


The Gift

by weesta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Carnival, Dean is Awesome, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sam has an attitude, Teenchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-27
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weesta/pseuds/weesta





	1. The Gift - Friday

  


The Gift 

   
 

 

“Dean!”

It took Dean’s sleep-fogged brain a few moments to register Sam’s voice; it took far less time to register Sam’s attempt to pull the blankets away from the cocoon Dean had made for himself. Growling in displeasure at being awakened, particularly since Dad had given him permission to sleep in, Dean rolled further to his left bunching all of the blankets he had a hold on further into his grasp and rolling his face into the pillow. Maybe if he just ignored Sam, he’d go away. It was Friday, didn’t he have school?

“Dean!”

Sam changed tactics – instead of pulling the blankets away from around Dean’s head and shoulders, he began yanking them upward off of Dean’s feet and legs. Dean frowned into the pillow; that was just weird. This wasn’t a _get your ass out of bed Dad wants us to run five miles and I’m not going by myself_ wake up call. Dean struggled to consciousness as Sam continued to fight with the blankets, all the while pushing and shoving Dean.

“DEAN!” The desperate edge to Sam’s voice woke Dean up quicker than any pushing and shoving ever would.

Sam didn’t recognize that Dean had finally started to rouse and continued to wrestle the blankets away with frantic movements. When Dean attempted to sit up and remove the blankets for himself, he ended up with a face full of linens from the other end of the bed.

“SAMMY! What the hell?”

Sam startled and sat down hard at the foot of Dean’s bed. Dean pushed himself to a seated position against the headboard and peeled the blankets off of his head. Sam’s eyes were wide and his face was tight with a look of barely contained panic. Sam moved in quickly, grabbing Dean by his arms just above his elbows. Any other time, Dean would’ve shaken him off, but the panic was still there; he reached out grasping Sam’s arms in a grip that mirrored the one he was caught in.

Dean’s mind raced through a million possible scenarios that set his heart to thumping an unpleasant rhythm in his chest because the one thing he was immediately certain of was that whatever had gone wrong, it had to involve Dad. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Sam interrupted him.

“How old are you?”

Dean blinked and squinted. Of all the horrible and potentially terrifying things Sam might have said, Dean wasn’t expecting that.

“Dean, how _old_ are you?” Sam repeated urgently.

“Old enough to kick your ass and look good doin’ it, Sammy.” Dean replied with a smirk.

It wasn’t the answer the youngest Winchester wanted, but Sam’s barely repressed bitchface _was_ the response Dean was looking for from his brother. The high level of hysteria was gone from Sam’s expression though there was still tremendous tension in the hold he had on Dean, and he searched Dean’s face like he was looking for something he’d thought he’d lost.

Now that he knew Sam was listening and could hear him, Dean replied with a straight answer. “I’m twenty, Sam. You’re sixteen and I’m twenty.” Sam relaxed even further and whispered a barely audible “Thank God”.

With Sam back on track and relatively calm, Dean fought hard against the tightness in his chest to ask the question he really didn’t want to ask. “Where’s Dad?”

Sam’s fingers tightened reflexively on Dean’s biceps as he threw a glance over his shoulder at the bedroom door. Dean threw his legs off the side of the bed pulling Sam up with him as he rose. He shouldered Sam aside, not so much to move him out of the way, but to take the lead.

“Dad?” Dean called as he stalked through the door down the short hallway leading to the other bedroom. A quick search proved the room to be empty and that the bed hadn’t been slept in. “If Dad never made it to bed, he should be out on the couch.” Dean was speaking more to himself than for Sam’s benefit.

Dean stalked out of his father’s bedroom and made a short detour into the bathroom and kitchen area just to assure himself he had only one place left to look. The small cabin where they’d taken up residence when John needed a place to convalesce in the winter wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination. Sam’s frantic shushing did not prevent Dean from calling out louder. “Dad!”

“Dean!” Sam grabbed the back of Dean’s t-shirt in an attempt to slow him down. “You’re gonna wake it up!”

“That’s kinda the plan, Sammy.” Dean approached the couch cautiously. Sam veered to the left and picked up a seldom used fireplace poker. The boys ended up standing side by side glaring suspiciously at the worn out couch. Sam held the poker with both hands in front of himself in a defensive position; Dean stood with his arms crossed.

“What _is_ it?” Sam whispered.

“Not “it”, Sammy.” Dean replied. He was already wearying of Sam’s inability to deal with the situation, particularly since the assumption was that _he_ had the ability to function even thought he hadn’t had any coffee yet.

“How did it get here?” Sam continued.

“I’m pretty sure that’s where he fell asleep.”

Sam’s brows drew down in concentration and disbelief. His tone declared his intention to dig in his heels on this argument, “That is NOT Dad, Dean.”

But, Dean was fairly sure it was. The quick search of the house confirmed that John Winchester was nowhere to be found – at least, not the John Winchester that was immediately recognizable to his sons.

The figure sleeping serenely on the couch that had quickly become John’s favorite place to crash looked to be around eleven or twelve years old. He was curled on his right side with his right hand folded loosely by his face. His left hand held the ancient faded afghan tightly around his shoulders. Legs and feet that would never have been hidden by the undersized throw at his full height were tucked neatly beneath the colorful blanket.

Dean absently slapped at Sam’s hand as the poker was extended outward toward the couch. “No poking.” Dean ordered softly, as if it needed to be said. Apparently it did, because the poker was immediately in motion again. Sam’s concentration was so focused on the figure on the couch that he didn’t see the glare Dean leveled at him as he tried to snatch the poker away from his brother. “Sam!” he hissed.

Sam, comfortable with rebellion after nearly a year of openly wrangling with their father, answered Dean glare for glare, and would not release his hold on the iron fireplace implement. A silent and furious tug-of-war followed and would have escalated much further, but movement from the couch froze the both of them and got their attention. Dean let go of the poker and Sam held it defensively once again.

The child on the couch woke in stages; rolling and snuffing into the pillow, rubbing a hand across bleary eyes, and then blinking into full awareness. A tentative smile warmed his face. “Mornin’.”

Dean crouched and sat on the ratty ottoman to put him closer to the boy’s line of sight. “Hey.” Dean found himself at an utter loss for words.

“Did I fall asleep here? Oh jeeze…” the boy sat upright with a mixed look of embarrassment and horror on his face as a different scenario occurred to him. “Did my _dad_ carry me in from the car?”

“Your _dad_?” Sam echoed, from his place between the couch and coffee table.

Dean replied smoothly, automatically seeking to soothe the boy’s wounded pride. “Nope, you walked in under your own power…but you were kind of out of it.” Dean paused and cocked his head to the side, not knowing where or how to push. “You don’t remember how you got here…” Dean stumbled over how to address the boy, “John?”

The boy shook his head slightly, unconcerned with his vague recollections of the night before and apparently unaware of losing decades of his life. “Nope.” He cocked his head in an eerie imitation of the gesture Dean had just made. “You’re Dean, right?” He tucked his feet up under his crossed legs, and then looked up to beam at Sam. Dimples creased his face and his expression hit Dean like a fist to his gut. “And you’re Sam? It’s so boss to finally meet you guys!”

Dean frowned slightly at John’s choice of adverb. “We’re pretty excited to meet you too, uh…John. Johnny.” Dean was getting a little tired of being the only one attempting to communicate. He tried to throw Sam a _”help me out”_ look, but Sam was standing as stoic as ever, though he had let the poker drop down to his side.

“I’ve been _so_ bummed out being cooped up for _so_ long!” Johnny punctuated his statement with an elaborate stretch. “So when my old man talked to your old man about a visit, I was stoked!”

“Yeah, that was a great idea.” Dean agreed, hoping that the grin on his face didn’t appear as false as it felt. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, but I gotta pee first.” John kicked his feet out from under the blanket, and then proceeded to pull the whole afghan up over his head in order to let it slide down behind his back. He jumped to his feet and looked at Dean expectantly. “Bathroom?”

Dean stood up next to the ottoman and tried not to show his distress at having to look down at his father. He pointed. “First door on the left.”

John spun on one foot and slid himself through the space between Sam and the couch. Sam remained immobile and scowled at the disturbingly small figure as he scampered toward the bathroom.

When the door to the bathroom slammed shut, Sam finally broke his silence. “My “old man” talked to your “old man”? What’s that all about?” The waver in Sam’s voice was slight, but Dean could see him creeping back into panic mode.

“I don’t know, but it’s 'boss' to meet us.” Dean snickered a little even as he rubbed a hand across his face; an easy tell of his discomfort.

“Dean! That’s not funny.” Sam glared at Dean, and then turned his focus to the bathroom door. “What are we supposed to DO with… _that_?” Sam gestured emphatically with the poker.

Dean’s face took on a serious and determined look. “We go back to the scene of the crime, Sammy.”

“The Gypsy lady?” Sam asked. “You helped her out! Why would she do…” Sam gestured again, “THAT?!”

“I don’t KNOW, Sam!” Dean snapped in frustration. Sam drew back slightly and Dean drew his hand across his face again. Dealing with a sixteen year old Sam was hard enough, but throwing an eleven year old “Johnny” into the mix might be too much for his sanity. “Get dressed. We’re taking a field trip.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam sat and stared moodily at his shoes, and then traced random squiggles in the dirt between his feet. It was bad enough that this whole situation completely freaked him out, and that he’d panicked earlier in the morning, and he couldn’t shake the knot of anger that had settled on a low burn in the pit of his stomach; but to add insult to injury… now he had to _baby-sit_?

The creak of the screen door announced Dean’s return. His footsteps sure didn’t sound peppy. This did not bode well. Sam continued to draw in the dirt; he felt, more than saw, Dean sit next to him on the porch steps. Sam didn’t need Dean to tell him that so far, nothing had changed.

“Where’s Johnny?”

There was no time to answer the question before the boy of the hour came careening around the left side of the porch running full out. He came to a dead stop in front of the steps, sending up a plume of dust near his feet and asked breathlessly, “How fast was that, Sam?”

Sam ignored the withering look Dean shot at him as he pretended to read his watch. “Nope, you didn’t beat the record yet.”

Johnny let out a disappointed, “Aw, man!” as he braced himself on his knees and tried to steady his breathing.

“Hey Johnny…don’t just stand there.” Dean waved his hand toward the dusty driveway. “Walk it off. You gotta keep those muscles loose.”

Johnny stood up straight and asked, “How far should I go?”

“To the bottom of the driveway and back. Take it slow though, just an easy walk.”

Spinning on his heel, Johnny started walking. As soon as the boy’s back was turned Dean leaned in closer to Sam to accuse, “Seriously? All I do is ask you to watch him for ten minutes and you have him running laps?”

As far as Sam was concerned making John run laps was poetic justice. Or, it would’ve been if Johnny wasn’t enjoying himself so much. Ignoring Dean, Sam asked, “What did the witch say?”

“Gypsy.” Dean corrected.

“What did the _Gypsy_ say?” Sam corrected in a tone that he never would’ve used with his father even on his worst day, accompanied by a pointed eye roll.

Dean ignored the tone and facial expression and answered, “She said…this is a gift.”

“A _gift_?!” Sam exploded, turning toward Dean in amazement. Sam’s yelling got Johnny’s attention so he whirled at the end of the driveway and picked up the speed on his walk back toward the house.

With a warning hand on Sam’s leg to keep him quiet, and a not too gentle squeeze to indicate he meant business, Dean turned his attention toward Johnny. “Sam said you were trying to beat a record. You ready to go again?”

“Yeah…two laps in two minutes.” Johnny grinned in anticipation and got in a runner’s ready stance with his right hand resting on the rail of the old porch. He turned his face toward Dean, ready for the call.

Sam suppressed another eye roll because Dean was taking it seriously and was actually going to time the kid. The second hand ticked from 59 to 00 and Dean yelled “GO!” Johnny was scrambling, off like a shot, and out of hearing range within seconds.

Sam pushed Dean’s hand off of his leg as he turned his body to face his brother. “What kind of crap is this? A GIFT?!”

Dean didn’t back up out of the space Sam crowded into. “I don’t know, Sam. I can only tell you what she told me. This…” he waved his hand to indicate their current situation, “is a gift to us, our whole family, for helping her out.”

“A _gift_. “Sam spat out. “Oh yeah, turning Dad into an eleven year old is a real treat for all of us.”

“Jesus Sam! Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” Dean was frustrated as he tried to explain, and Sam was surprised to see another expression on his face. It wasn’t an expression Dean let slip often, but when he did it was a kick in the gut. _That_ face said Dean really wanted something, but Sam was holding him back – Dean would never say it out loud, not if he really meant it; but Sam knew enough to know when he was a buzz kill whether he intended to be one or not. Why the hell would Dean _want_ Dad to be a kid? It didn’t make any sense.

Johnny raced past, waving, with a determined expression on his flushed face. Sam shook his head in defeat as Dean checked his watch. “How long is it supposed to last?”

“As long as these things usually last.” Dean replied in a wavering voice that was a poor impersonation of the Gypsy he’d left inside. Sam glared, gearing up for another explosion. Dean headed him off saying, “Three days. She said we have three days. He’ll be back to his old self, literally, on Monday morning.”

“Can we do anything to speed up the process?” Sam pushed.

“It’s three days, Sam. I’m sure we can handle it ‘til then.” Dean looked away toward the left side of the house anticipating Johnny’s return. Sam looked at Dean’s profile, seething in silence. It was very clear that as far as Dean was concerned, the matter was closed. Not that he’d asked Sam’s opinion, or that it was likely he would. _Like father, like son._

What Sam couldn’t quite get a grasp on was why the situation pissed him off as much as it did. This clearly ranked at the top of the list of “weirdest things that ever happened to me”, but it wasn’t _completely_ outside the realm of being able to deal with. When Johnny came flying around the side of the house again, his appearance hit Sam again - it was just _wrong_. He was too small, and too young and too… _everything_. It felt like a personal affront, though Sam couldn’t pinpoint _why_.

Johnny skidded to a halt at the foot of the steps as Dean hauled himself up from his position. “Good job, dude! Two minutes flat!”

“I did it Sam!” Johnny crowed.

“Great. Can we go now?” Sam couldn’t help the shortness in his tone, though in all honesty, he wasn’t trying very hard to rein in his attitude. The disappointed look on Johnny’s face when Sam didn’t acknowledge his achievement hit Sam almost as hard as the casual way Dean threw his arm around Johnny’s shoulders and tried to cheer him up. Sam was determined to ignore the whole stupid situation and slumped in the front of the Impala for the ride home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The round trip to the Gypsy’s place and back ate up all of the morning and the early part of the afternoon. Once the initial shock was over and it had kind of sunk in that they were stuck with Johnny for the weekend, Sam found himself increasingly irritated that he’d missed yet another day of school for “family business”. It wasn’t just _any_ day of school either; with finals looming most of Sam’s teachers were planning on passing out outlines and study guides to use as review – of course he missed _all_ of that.

In a huff, Sam announced that he was going to study and didn’t want to be disturbed. The display was really for Dean’s benefit, so Sam was surprised when Johnny took it personally. It wasn’t Sam’s intention to hurt Johnny’s feelings, but that was the unintended consequence of his dramatic declaration. Sam didn’t even realize the kid was upset until he overheard Johnny asking Dean why Sam didn’t join them, and if maybe their dads should’ve arranged a weekend in the summer so Sam wouldn’t have had to miss school.

Sam pretended not to notice the glare Dean leveled at him and hunched down further over his books. In his mind, at least, he could acknowledge feeling badly about making Johnny feel unwanted and extraneous; but then he justified his attitude by arguing that John now knew how he felt most of the time. But even in his own head Sam knew the argument held no water considering that it wasn’t _John_ whose feelings had been hurt; it was Johnny, and they weren’t the same. Sam sighed and fretfully rubbed his forehead.

Sam had dragged all of the books he’d brought home out to the porch because it was unseasonably warm and the kitchen was too confining. The temperature on the porch was marginally cooler than in the house, but certainly wasn’t a quiet place to study. In his sulk, Sam found himself aggravated by every little noise – the chattering birds building their nests; the creak of the chair each time he shifted; the slam of the door every time Dean or Johnny went in or out of the house which they seemed to do every two seconds.

Dean made no pretense about making as much noise as possible, but Johnny was painfully conscientious about trying not to disturb Sam. After Johnny’s latest excursion in and out of the house, Sam slammed the book in his lap shut. The universe was conspiring against him with the help of a Gypsy and it was really pissing him off. Reluctantly Sam gave his attention to the scene in the yard. He wouldn’t admit it, but a small, unacknowledged part of him found it compelling and he was drawn in.

The centerpiece of the scene was Dean with the car – that at least was normal. He had his tools laid out, just the way Dad would, and was under the hood doing whatever it was he did under the hood. But next to him, looking even smaller than he was because he was tucked up so close to Dean, was Johnny. Johnny, who appeared to know as much about cars as Sam did, which was to say, very little; Johnny, who when leaning in to examine whatever it was Dean pointed out, had to lift his feet clear off the ground; Johnny, whose unbroken child’s voice sailed above Dean’s baritone in counterpoint with question after question.

As fascinating as it was to watch Johnny, Sam still couldn’t completely wrap his brain around the whole situation – that this boy was his father – so Sam focused on Dean instead. Sitting on the porch, outside but not excluded, Sam had a unique perspective. Dean was relaxed and clearly enjoying himself. Sam envied his ability to totally embrace the moment in spite of its inherent weirdness.

Sam knew that he harbored a lot of resentment about Dean being a “good soldier” and constantly marching in lock-step with Dad, but seeing Dean with Johnny made Sam reevaluate. What struck Sam the most was how unbelievably patient Dean was with the younger boy. The kid had a million questions; Dean had a million-and-one answers. In the same situation, where John would’ve just grabbed the tools and done the job himself, Dean guided Johnny and showed him how to do each job. Dean was generous with his encouragement, and it was easy for Sam to see why Johnny soaked up all of the attention.

It wasn’t hard for Sam to make the leap from watching Dean and Johnny to analyzing his own relationship with his brother. It was abundantly clear to Sam how Dean became so practiced dealing with extremely inquisitive little boys; though at twenty Dean was probably exercising more patience entertaining Johnny than he had when he was sixteen and dealing with a twelve year old Sam.

Sam became acutely aware of just how fortunate he was to have Dean as a brother. He didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Dean looking out for him. Sam was uncomfortable with the sudden influx of feelings, but after a moment or two of letting it all wash over him he realized that though he was overwhelmed, the feelings were all positive – gratitude, love, satisfaction, pride. Was this part of the Gypsy’s “gift”? And in the end, who was it supposed to benefit – Sam or Dean?

Suddenly claustrophobic, Sam pushed his books aside and abruptly stood up. A quick detour into the house was all it took to get the things he required. Sam flung the screen door open, vaulted down the steps of the porch and took off toward the back field. He needed to _do_ something; he needed a distraction from the whole, crazy situation. Sam’s feet seemed to have a mind of their own as he headed toward the area they had set up for target practice. The irony of the situation was not lost on Sam; the one activity he felt compelled to do, to shake his frustration, was the thing he would have fought the hardest against if it had been suggested to him by his father.

Methodically Sam set up the equipment he needed. They were lucky that the cabin was remote and abutted an isolated field they could use for this purpose. It was unlikely a stray hunter would wander into their territory and take unexpected buckshot in the ass; and even less likely that a neighbor would wonder what they were doing. Even if someone did overhear the shooting, there were enough hunters in this area of Georgia for the sound not to raise any suspicion.

Sam chose to practice with a rifle instead of one of the bows because he felt the need for some destruction. The “thunk” of an arrow into a target would not be nearly as satisfying as bits of flying hay or metal cans exploding. Automatically Sam inspected and loaded the rifle; ammunition was handy on a nearby stump if he needed to reload. Sam settled into the zone and began to fire round after round at his unsuspecting targets. After the last round was fired Sam took a deep breath. A soothing silence settled over the field.

“Whoa, Sam! That’s pretty good!”

Sam whirled in irritation ready to unleash his frustration with this whole stupid situation; it was a new, but already deeply entrenched habit created by nearly a year of fighting with his father. Sam could feel his anger growing, bubbling up in a familiar wave ready to be released. But when he turned to face the source of his anger, it was at least a foot shorter than it was supposed to be, and currently having difficulty untangling its shoelace from the fence rail where it had become entwined.

Sam was overwhelmed again by the intensity of his feelings. This kid had nothing to do a lifetime worth of new schools, worn out clothes and living out of motel rooms. He had nothing to do with the last four months of John’s illness and confinement or Sam’s growing anxiety and determination to finish out the semester in the school where he’d started. This kid knew nothing outside of his shiny-happy, pre-Cold War bubble, and Sam just couldn’t be the one to break it to him.

With a sigh of exasperation, Sam walked over to the fence to help Johnny. Before he knelt down to inspect the snagged shoelace Sam placed the rifle against the fence on his side an arm’s length away and ordered, “Don’t touch that.” Sam was surprised to note the expression of acceptance on Johnny’s face. It was just so unfamiliar coming from that source, Sam didn’t quite know what to do with it, so he focused on the problem at hand.

But Johnny, much like the son he would father, was not one to hold back his garrulous tendencies. “I hope I didn’t bother you, Sam. But when we heard the shooting Dean said you were doing target practice and said that I could come watch as long as I didn’t go past the fence. So I sat up here to watch you and my shoe got stuck. But Sam…you were SO GOOD!”

In his enthusiasm, Johnny lost his balance and had to reach out to grab Sam’s shoulder to steady himself. Sam found himself automatically reaching out to steady Johnny as well. They made a strange tableau – Sam on one knee and Johnny on one foot working together to strike a balance from either side of the fence. A moment later the shoelace was free and Johnny had both feet under him. Since Sam was already in a good position, he took the time to tie the sneaker in a strong double knot. The simple action made Sam smile and improved his irritated mood.

When Sam straightened up he made sure to reclaim the rifle even though Johnny made no indication that he was interested in it. Instead, the youngest Winchester picked up the train of thought where he’d left off as he leaned his arms on the top rail of the leaning fence. “Wow, Sam. Do you always hit all the targets like that? You were amazing!”

Sam tensed and turned away slightly; he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. The whole thing was disconcerting; it was rare in Sam’s recollection that John gave any compliments, let alone ones that weren’t backhanded or attached to “constructive criticism”. But _Johnny_ was completely genuine – he was impressed by Sam’s skill, felt free to say it…and that was it. He had no expectations, which was extremely confusing for Sam to deal with.

Johnny seemed to be waiting for some kind of response, so Sam mumbled, “Uh, yeah…thanks.”

Johnny didn’t seem phased by Sam’s reluctance to converse and just filled in the silence by himself. “Dean told me to tell you that when you were done that we should come back and get ready for dinner.” Johnny looked up in inquiry. “Are you done?”

Again, what would’ve been a loaded question asked by John - “Are you done?” meaning “Are you going to leave those targets lying around?” or “Are you going to put that gun away without cleaning it?” both of which implying that of course Sam was _not_ done - was innocently put forth by Johnny.

“No, I uh…need to put everything away.” Sam paused and tipped his head as he looked at Johnny. “Do you want to help me?”

Johnny beamed as thought it was just the invitation he’d been waiting for. “Sure, Sam!” He vaulted cleanly over the fence and paused, standing next to Sam. Sam rested his rifle against the fence again repeating, “Don’t touch that.” It was so weird giving orders to his father.

Together Sam and Johnny walked over to what was left of the targets; Sam instructed Johnny to pick up the larger bits of shrapnel while he picked up the smaller remnants. The job was quickly done, and they headed back toward the cabin. Sam carried the rifle on his left side because Johnny was traipsing along on his right. As soon as they were in sight of the cabin, Johnny ran on ahead shouting to Dean, “Dean! Sam shot all the targets! Every single one!”

The slam of the screen door did little to muffle the clarity of Johnny’s report or Dean’s enthusiastic response, and Sam allowed himself a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dinner, while Johnny was trying to knock cans off the fence near the house using a sling shot that Dean whipped up, Sam started a conversation that made Dean’s head hurt. It was good that Sam was starting to warm up to Johnny and Dean didn’t have to resort to kicking his ass to make it happen, but now that Sam was showing some concern his mind had taken a strange path. The way Sam’s brain worked was mysterious sometimes; he thought about things that would _never_ occur to Dean, and then harped on them until he got his point across.

“All I’m saying, Dean,” Sam continued as he passed a dripping plate over to be dried, “is that we don’t know what he knows or how what he sees might affect him.”

Dean attempted to make the point he’d been stuck on for what felt like hours. “I really don’t think watching ' _Star Wars'_ will rip the time-space continuum, Sam. What could it hurt?”

“We don’t know and that’s just the problem!” Aggravated Sam turned toward Dean splashing dishwater everywhere. Dean shoved Sam until he was pointed toward the sink again. Sam pointedly shook his hands free of suds and water, and then turned again to Dean. “From the way Johnny looks and the way he’s behaving, we can guess he’s around eleven or twelve. When _Dad_ was eleven or twelve the first time, ' _Star Wars'_ wasn’t even close to being around, it was all ' _Bonanza'_ and Elvis. What if exposing him to ' _Star Wars'_ makes him realize that he’s not our “cousin” and he freaks out? What if watching commercials on TV make him realize that he’s supposed to be forty five and it does some crazy shit to his brain when he figures out he’s missing thirty-five years of his life? Are you going to explain the Gypsy’s “gift” to him?”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, fairly sure that Sam was being melodramatic. At the same time, was it really worth the risk of traumatizing Johnny for the sake of a two hour movie? They’d kept busy all day; surely they could find something to occupy themselves until it was time for the kid to go to bed. That was how they ended up playing Risk until close to midnight.

Generally, board games were not a Winchester pastime but when Pastor Jim had found this place for them through a friend of a friend they took up residence – “as is”. That included a motley collection of furniture, a furnace with a dubious past and a surprising assortment of board games. Sam and Dean had spent many long nights during John’s convalescence entertaining themselves with marathon games of Monopoly or Parcheesi. Risk was not really fun with two people and it was probably the last game they’d voluntarily play with their father; he was too competitive, too focused on making it a training exercise and too strong of a strategist for them to have any chance of beating him.

Playing Risk with Johnny was completely different. He understood the rules of the game, but didn’t have the far reaching knowledge of strategy that he did as an adult. He gambled too much on each roll of the dice but was good-natured about every loss. He was generous with his praise and was particularly impressed when Dean conquered all of Asia.

By the time Sam had successfully engineered a surprising rally to take back North America, Johnny had already been knocked out of the game and was dozing in the corner of the couch. A soft snore stopped Sam in mid-roll. He put the dice down. “I guess we should put him to bed.”

Sam appeared to be at a total loss and that panicked expression of _What do I DO with him?_ from this morning was creeping back onto his face. Dean had to laugh – he’d seen Sam stand his ground against much scarier things, but Dad as a kid was completely freaking him out.

“Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’ll put him to bed. You check the doors and windows, and then you can turn in.”

Sam immediately got to work, but Dean hesitated. Though he certainly had the strength and size to do it, it just seemed _wrong_ to pick Johnny up off the couch and carry him like an infant. Dean could deal with Johnny being eleven years, but babying him sat wrong with Dean. Luckily he had a lot of experience putting young Winchesters to bed.

Dean lightly shook Johnny’s shoulder as he rolled him so his feet were off the couch. Speaking softly, so as not to scare him, Dean encouraged Johnny to get up and start walking. Johnny roused enough to be somewhat mobile and Dean guided him into the big bedroom where he would sleep. In no time, Dean had Johnny undressed and under the covers. He figured that missing one night of teeth brushing wouldn’t be the end of the world.

It crossed Dean’s mind that double checking Sam’s work at the doors and windows would be insulting to his brother, but as the eldest, in charge of not just Sam, but Johnny, Dean couldn’t help himself. Sam didn’t get his panties in a twist; he seemed to understand that Dean felt the added responsibility and didn’t give him grief about it; at least not out loud. A short time later, both he and Sam were settled in the room they shared.

Dean allowed his thoughts wander as he let his body relax. He swore he could hear Sam’s mind racing across the small divide between their beds. Dean could only imagine how Sam was extrapolating the ramifications of this whole Gypsy “gift”, but as far as Dean was concerned he was going to enjoy the time they had with Johnny and deal with Monday when it rolled around.

Sam’s breathing eventually evened out, and Dean relaxed even further. He was just about to slip under from a doze to true slumber when soft footfalls in the hallway got his attention. Clearly Johnny was making a midnight run to the bathroom which was indicated a few moments later by a flushing toilet. Dean listened for the tread of Johnny’s feet heading back toward the bedroom, but he hesitated out in the hallway. Dean wondered if he’d lost his way; if the light he’d left on in the kitchen wasn’t enough to guide Johnny.

It seemed Johnny got himself straightened out, and in the darkness Dean could hear him head back to the big bedroom. Dean strained his hearing to listen for the sounds that Johnny was settling back in bed and was surprised when a minute or two later, Johnny was out of bed and wandering in the hallway outside their room again. The footsteps went into the living room and then came back again. Concerned that the boy might be sleepwalking, Dean rose to intercept him.

Moving quietly so he wouldn’t wake Sam, Dean ghosted out into the hallway. What he found surprised him - Johnny was waffling back and forth between their bedroom door and the living room clutching a blanket and a pillow with an expression of abject misery on his face.

Dean was instantly concerned, “Johnny? What’s wrong?”

Johnny startled, and misery turned to mortification. “Dean! I’m sorry. It’s nothing. I’ll just go back to bed.”

Johnny continued to apologize, but it was hard to hear what he was saying with his face buried in the pillow that was smushed up against his face. But what was worse was that Dean was pretty sure, positive in fact, that Johnny was using the pillow to wipe away his tears. Johnny moved to try and scoot past Dean, but Dean didn’t let him pass. Instead he pulled the boy, blankets, pillows and all, close to him for a hug. The shaking in Johnny’s small frame went right through Dean. Every protective instinct he’d ever had came blazing up as a bonfire from his gut. Whatever was wrong with Johnny, he had to make it right.

“Is everything okay?” Sam called out from behind them sounding genuinely concerned. Dean could hear him rising from his bed as well.

“He’s fine, Sam.” In a split-second decision, Dean steered Johnny back into the room he shared with Sam instead of toward the big bedroom. Sam was sitting up in his bed which was pushed up against the wall across from the doorway. Dean maneuvered himself and Johnny through the limited walking space between the two beds and sat them both down on Sam’s bed. The only light in the room was the weak moonlight from outside and the ambient light that made it down the hall from the kitchen; Dean thought it was better in the semi-dark, he had a feeling Johnny wouldn’t want Sam to see that he’d been crying.

Though Sam was seated cross-legged against the headboard, he had a long enough reach to put a soothing hand on Johnny’s back under the arm Dean still had around his shoulder. Sam shot an anxious glance over Johnny’s head at Dean, but Dean still didn’t know what was wrong. At least the emotional storm from the hallway seemed to have passed; Johnny was no longer shaking.

“So what’s going on, kiddo?” Dean prompted trying to keep his tone light. “What’s got you wandering around in the middle of the night? I thought you were asleep.”

Johnny mumbled into the pillow, “I had to go to the bathroom.”

Dean waited, but when Johnny didn’t seem inclined to offer more information he pressed him. “I heard you go out to the bathroom, but why didn’t you go back to bed?”

Johnny hunched miserably around the pillow he held across his midsection. Dean could feel the tension in his shoulders increase. “I didn’t want you guys to think that I was a big baby!” Johnny moaned unhappily.

Johnny’s response didn’t answer the question. Dean looked across at Sam, but Sam only shrugged at him. “I thought maybe if I slept on the couch like last night…but I was already asleep…”

It finally hit home for Dean that this was a _kid_ they were dealing with; an eleven or twelve year old _kid_. He didn’t know much of his father’s childhood history, but maybe sleepovers were not a common occurrence. And maybe spending a weekend with his “cousins”, as cool as they were, was still kind of unnerving. And maybe sleeping in a strange house in a strange bed all alone was just too much to ask, Gypsy gift or not.

“You want to bunk in here with us tonight?”

Johnny’s gasp seemed to indicate that it was more than he could hope for. Dean didn’t wait for him to respond. He stood up, leaving Johnny with Sam and strode into the living room. Dean gathered the couch cushions and returned to the bedroom. Johnny picked his feet up and scooted closer to Sam as Dean arranged a makeshift bed on the floor between their two beds. Satisfied with his work, Dean indicated that Johnny should make himself comfortable. Johnny basically fell out of Sam’s bed onto the cushions and quickly made himself a nest.

“Are you guys sure this is okay?” Johnny asked tentatively, though it was clear he had no intention of leaving.

“As long as Sam remembers not to step on you when he gets up in the morning, I think it will be fine.” Dean answered as he walked around to the far side of his bed in order to climb in.

By the time everyone was settled once again Dean’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He could see that Sam had rolled over onto his side and was looking at Johnny with an expression that was hard to pinpoint on his face; it was a mixture of exasperation, concern and a little bit of awe. Clearly, Sam was still having issues dealing with John acting like a child – not because he was being childish, but because this pint-sized version of their father really _was_ the child John had been long before life had scarred and hardened him. It was scary and a little heartbreaking to see John this way.

There was no telling what tomorrow would bring.  


  
  
 [Friday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879003.html) | [Saturday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879105.html) | [Sunday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879515.html) |[Monday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879740.html) |  [Master Post](http://weesta.livejournal.com/878814.html)  



	2. Chapter 2

The Gift - Saturday 

 

Sam woke up on Saturday morning and lay on his back facing the ceiling. For a moment before he opened his eyes he convinced himself that Friday hadn’t happened; that it was all some intense, shared hallucination. Unable to resist a peek, Sam rolled to his right and opened his eyes. _Crap._ The small form nearly hidden beneath a pile of blankets sleeping on the cushions between Dean’s bed and his was no delusion. Sam bit back a groan.

A quick scan of the room indicated that Dean was no longer there. Sam crab walked to the end of his bed and crawled off taking care not to step on or disturb Johnny. Once he was clear of the doorway, Sam dropped stealth mode and headed for the kitchen.

Although the calendar indicated they were weeks away from the official start of summer, the humidity in the small kitchen pointed toward another sultry day. Sam found Dean sitting at the table, cup of coffee in hand, skimming through the local newspapers. Sam was hit with a wall of déjá vu; the pieces were right, but because it was Dean and not Dad sitting there, it was just odd.

Sam gathered supplies for breakfast in silence and brought the assembled items to the table. Dean pushed a fresh mug of coffee his way. “Thanks.”

“He still sleeping?” Dean asked gesturing with his head toward the bedroom.

Sam nodded in response, and then slumped in his chair and stared at the box of cereal. “What are we going to do today, Dean?”

Dean didn’t raise his eyes from the newspaper as he responded, “The same thing we do every day, Sammy…try to take over the world.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help cracking a smile. Dean smirked over the paper, and then he shrugged. “We’ll do what we did yesterday; try to keep busy and make sure we don’t mess with the time-space continuum.”

“It’s all…it’s just…” Sam was irritated by his inability to verbalize his unease. “It’s so _weird_!” His hands flailed seemingly on their own nearly knocking over the cereal. “It’s Dad, but it’s _not_ , but it really IS…and he’s so _small_.”

Dean nodded, but seemed more amused by Sam than sympathetic to his concerns. “Doesn’t it bother you?” Sam demanded.

Dean shrugged again. “It is what it is, Sammy.” Dean looked thoughtful, so Sam waited. “I’ve been thinking about what the Gypsy said, about this being a gift. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to get out of all this, so I figure I’ll just enjoy the ride.”

Again, Sam found himself envious of Dean’s ability to embrace the moment, no matter how weird the moment happened to be. Not long afterward, Johnny shuffled into the kitchen looking bleary-eyed and a little wary, but he brightened up as soon as he saw Sam and Dean sitting there.

“Good morning,” he greeted them.

“Mornin’, kiddo,” Dean responded. Sam felt a little pang at how easily the affectionate endearment rolled off of Dean’s tongue. It was one of those things along with “Sammy” that he refused to respond to, but suddenly he found he missed it.

“Want some cereal?” Sam asked as he waggled the box at Johnny.

“Yep.” Johnny whirled on his heels and turned to face the cabinet. “Bowls in here?” he asked as he opened the one closest to the fridge. Sam nodded in agreement and turned his attention back to the section of the paper he’d nabbed from Dean.

A moment later Johnny’s voice interrupted Sam’s thoughts, “I can’t reach them,” Sam blinked and looked up. He met Dean’s eye over their respective papers and they both turned to look at Johnny. It looked like Johnny was going to make a jump for it; Dean rose quickly and offered to help.

“I got it. You sit with Sam.” Sam could tell watching the shake of Dean’s shoulders that he was trying not to laugh. That, plus the absurdity of John not being able to reach the shelf of his choice, got Sam going and he very deliberately turned his attention toward the sports section so he wouldn’t start laughing himself. Johnny missed all of the byplay and by the time Dean came back to the table with his bowl, everyone was under control.

Breakfast was a quiet affair; Johnny was slow to wake up, and Dean seemed comfortable with the silence. Sam was jealous of their apparent ease because he was still struggling with how he should be acting and not knowing how to behave with Johnny made him twitch. Part of Sam wanted to bury himself in his textbooks and use the excuse of impending finals to hide from the whole situation, but he’d fallen asleep thinking about how this was supposed to be a “gift” and running away from the opportunity felt wrong. At the same time, he just didn’t know what to _do_.

Dean snapped Sam out of his thoughts when he addressed Johnny. “So, what are you up for today Johnny?”

 Johnny looked up from his bowl of cereal; he seemed startled to be asked for an opinion. “Oh. I don’t know.” He looked back at Dean guileless. “What do you think we should do?”

 Sam could read Dean well enough to know that was exactly the response he was looking for. “Well, if you and Sam can keep yourselves busy for the morning, I have a plan for the afternoon.”

Johnny nodded his head and turned expectantly to Sam. Twenty-four hours ago Sam would’ve just glared at Dean and refused to participate, but since getting involved was what he’d just been thinking about he decided to suck it up and jump in with both feet.

“Uh…you looked like you have pretty good aim with that slingshot Dean made you last night. What about some real target practice?”

Sam was rewarded by Johnny’s instant, enthusiastic response. “Really, Sam? That would so be cool!”

 Sam could tell his offer had surprised Dean as well, and that was almost as gratifying. Sam smiled. “Clean up…get dressed and we’ll head out back.”

 Johnny almost toppled his chair in his haste to stand up. A quick save by Dean prevented calamity. Johnny’s bowl and spoon were rattling in the sink and he was down the hall before they stopped spinning. Sam stood more slowly, bowl in hand. Dean rose from the table as well and plucked Sam’s dishes away from him. 

 “I’ll take care of this,” Dean stated. “You’ve got to keep up with the kid.”

 Sam chuckled, but he knew Dean was right. He quickly scooted out of the kitchen; already planning what the best target set up would be for the much shortened Winchester  
  
~~~~~~~~~~.

Dean never figured that his plan to throw Sam and Johnny together would be accepted so readily, or that Sam would have his own ideas about what to do. Dean was going to suggest that Sam take Johnny to the library, or make up a grocery list for them to go shopping for, but this was so much better. Dean liked the idea that Johnny and Sam were going to stick close to home but do something other than sitting around the house.

 Dean made sure to take his time cleaning up from breakfast so that the boys would go ahead with what they were doing without him. He couldn’t articulate why, but he knew it was important for the two of them to have some time alone; not that he was actually going to leave them alone – he couldn’t resist watching the two of them in action.

 By the time Dean changed and headed out toward the clearing, Sam and Johnny were long gone, but Dean hadn’t heard the sound of gunfire yet. It would take Sam a little while to set up the targets and give some instruction, but they should’ve started by now. Then it occurred to Dean that Sam might’ve grabbed a bow for Johnny to use; maybe Sam was more comfortable with the idea of giving Johnny a less volatile weapon. It surprised Dean because Johnny had been so impressed with Sam’s ability with a rifle so he figured that would be the weapon of choice.

Not knowing quite what to expect when he arrived at the clearing, Dean approached silently. He was pretty sure Johnny would have no clue he was being watched, but he didn’t want to get Sam riled up thinking he was under observation or something. As it turned out, Dean needn’t have worried; Sam was so involved in instructing Johnny, it was like the two of them were the only ones in the world. 

 Sam’s face was intent and serious; Johnny was attentive and taking in every word. Ironically, Dean could identify almost every phrase of Sam’s speech as coming directly from the mouth of John Winchester. He almost laughed out loud when the phrase “respect your weapon” came out of Sam’s mouth because Sam all too often parroted those words in disgust when disassembling and re-cleaning the weapon in question.

 Dean leaned against a tree as the lesson progressed. It was so strange for Dean to watch Sam with Johnny. Aside from the inherent wrongness of the situation, there was something about the scene that struck Dean as “off”. It didn’t make him uncomfortable or set of any warning klaxons in his head, but there was something so different about the scene that Dean had to worry at it until he worked it out.

 Dean was lost in his thoughts and missed the final instructions. The scene regained his attention when Sam let Johnny fire off a few rounds, getting used to the feel of the rifle. Johnny was slightly overexcited and Sam had to review “where not to point your weapon.” It wasn’t until Sam walked around behind Johnny and adjusted his stance for the next round that it hit Dean – he had never seen Sam be a teacher before. Sam was confident, competent and totally in control of the situation…it horrified and saddened Dean that Sam had never had that opportunity before.

 The physical difference between Sam and Johnny was suddenly overwhelmingly apparent Dean knew he automatically looked at Sam as “young” or “small” in spite of the fact that Sam was sixteen and already slightly taller than Dean. Seeing Johnny, who was _literally_ young and small, standing next to Sam forced Dean to reevaluate. Sam wasn’t a kid anymore and though Dean would never stop looking out for Sam, maybe Dean could admit that Sam could take care of himself.

 Feeling overcome by too much information, Dean left as quietly as he arrived. He made his way back to the cabin and kept himself busy with chores around the house, keeping an ear out for the progress of the target practice as the morning went on. After a long stretch of silence, Dean figured Sam and Johnny were on their way back for lunch. He had sandwich fixin’s out on the counter for when they returned.

 Johnny recounted the morning’s activity with great eagerness. He was very pleased with his own progress and pronounced Sam to be an excellent instructor. Dean could see that Sam was much more comfortable with Johnny after spending the morning together, but still seemed unsure of what to do with Johnny’s unfettered praise.

“Dean! You said you had a plan for us this afternoon.” Johnny stated after gulping the last of his soda and thumping the glass onto the table.

“I sure do.” Dean replied with a wink. “Y’all need to get changed into some shorts and grab the bags I got together. We’re going for a hike.”   Sam didn’t greet the announcement with the same enthusiasm that Johnny did, but he didn’t argue or insist on staying home so Dean counted that as a win.

 It didn’t seem to matter to Johnny where they were going or what they were doing; he was happy enough to troop along in Dean’s wake with a walking stick he’d found in a deadfall. Sam brought up the rear not quite sure what to make of the hike since Dean hadn’t clued him in on the destination; he wasn’t grumbling or complaining yet, so Dean hoped Sam would keep a lid on it and they would reach their surprise destination quickly.

 Pastor Jim had casually mentioned the “watering hole” on the far edge of the property one evening when he was visiting. At the time it was early spring, not nearly warm enough to go for a swim and too late in the season to do anything on the ice. Dean had dismissed the information sure that with John on the mend they’d never stay long enough to take advantage having a place to swim. But John’s recuperation took longer than expected leading to Sam’s relentless insistence on finishing out the school year and three months later it was hot enough to hike through the woods to find the pond.

When Jim had described the watering hole, Dean got a mental picture of exactly that – a small, muddy pool big enough to splash around in, like something out of Tom Sawyer; what they found was so much better.

The pond was a surprising expanse of clean, stream fed water. The path that they followed ended at a shallow beach area; the grass that had managed to spring up out from under the shadows of the trees gave way to gravely sand at the water’s edge. It looked to Dean like the pond had been a popular spot at some point; residents of the area had gone to the trouble of erecting a dock – probably for fishing. There was even a solid looking rope swing fastened securely to a sturdy branch overhanging the deeper water.

Judging from the emptiness of the pond and general disrepair of the dock, it seemed that this swimming spot was no longer a popular destination. The influx of yuppie residents fleeing from the higher real-estate taxes in the north had brought money to this area of Georgia; the clean, chlorinated town pools drew people away from the old-fashioned, backwoods pond. Dean was just as happy not to have to share the spot with anyone.

The rope swing dangled tantalizingly over the pond. It was the first thing Johnny spotted when they arrived at the ‘watering hole’. His exclamation of “Boss! Is that a rope swing?” pretty much summed up his feelings. Johnny’s excitement was evident as he stripped down to his shorts in record time, kicking his sneakers off and peeling away his socks. Clothing flew in every direction as the sight of the rope dangling over the placid pond overrode all of Johnny’s inhibitions.

“Hey is the dock stable?” was yelled over his shoulder even as he took off running for a cannonball off the end. Dean’s impulse was to slow him down, call him back, but it was a lost cause. Johnny’s cannonball was perfectly executed and the spray from the splash hovered momentarily in the afternoon air. Then Johnny came up from the water sputtering and flailing.

“Cold! Cold! It’s really cold!”

Dean laughed but the kid kinda had it coming; it he’d waited two seconds Dean would’ve prepared him. Although the air temperature had been very warm in the last week or so, the pond was mountain-fed and the water temperature hadn’t caught up. Johnny staggered to the shore jumping from foot to foot and slapping his arms in an attempt to get warm.

“That’s not gonna do you any good, Johnny,” Dean explained as he approached the boy. Dean didn’t even stop to think about it; he did to Johnny exactly what he would’ve done to Sam in the same situation. Without warning Dean stooped, grabbed Johnny, slung him over one shoulder and headed quickly down the dock. “If you want to get used to the water…you gotta stay in it!” With a heave Dean unloaded Johnny back into the water.

Once again, Johnny came up sputtering, this time in indignation. “Dean!”

He was echoed by Sam, still standing on the shore with an expression of utter disbelief on his face. “Dean!”

Dean ignored them both and jumped into the water toppling Johnny with a wave. Dean resurfaced quickly, determined not to give Johnny the satisfaction of seeing Dean’s own reaction to the cold water, even though it was freakin’ _freezing_. Grinning like a madman Dean stalked Johnny who was making another attempt to get to the shore. Dean’s greater height gave him the advantage of walking when Johnny had to swim. When Johnny realized Dean was after him he yelped and tried for a course correction.

“Dean…no!” Johnny tried to wave Dean off, but he was laughing too hard to be very effective.

Dean pounced, grabbed Johnny and threw him once again into the deeper water. Sputtering Johnny flailed and splashed. This time he headed for the dock instead of the shore. “Sam! Help me!”

Sam had been watching all the nonsense from the shore, flabbergasted by Dean’s actions, but he couldn’t resist a plea for help. Sam rushed toward the end of the dock; Dean ran through the water. Sam would have probably been able to pull Johnny from the water because he got to the dock’s edge first, but he didn’t know that it was no longer Dean’s objective to make sure Johnny stayed in the pond; but as soon as Sam got involved it was Dean’s goal to get him soaked. How Sam didn’t see it coming was beyond Dean.

As Sam reached out to make a grab for Johnny, Dean leaped to make a grab for Sam. Sam couldn’t compensate for Dean’s weight and momentum and immediately toppled into the pond. Sam came up out of the water angry; he’d gone into the water with his socks and sneakers still on. Dean could see the thunderclouds rapidly building on Sam’s face, but Johnny burst through like an unexpected ray of sunlight.

Having an ally in the water was just what Johnny needed. He swam over to where Sam had surfaced, grabbed onto his shoulders and hung on like a leech. “Don’t let ‘im get us, Sam!”

On Sam’s back, Johnny couldn’t see the look Sam gave Dean. The raised eyebrows and the slight eye roll asked Dean, _“Is this for real?”_ but the grin that blossomed on Sam’s face said he was ready to play. For Dean it was an amazing sight.

Sam was already backpedaling into deeper water, hoping to make Dean swim and take away the advantage of having both feet on the ground; all the while Johnny was pointing out the obvious – “He’s getting closer” – or giving Sam encouragement. Sam was at a serious disadvantage with Johnny’s added weight on his back, so Dean took his time. He honestly couldn’t pinpoint the last time he’d had so much fun.

Dean knew that Sam had absolutely no chance of escape unless he managed to disengage himself from Johnny’s grip and talk the youngster into swimming in two different directions. In his gut Dean knew that Sam wouldn’t ditch Johnny in the deep water which made Dean’s job much easier.

Dean took up a position between the boys and the shore; he wasn’t in deep enough that he had to tread water, but Sam was. “You can’t get away from me, Sammy.” Dean warned.

Sam just grinned back at Dean waiting for him to make a move. Dean wanted to give Sam a _little_ bit of hope so he made a big show of diving in Sam’s direction, telegraphing exactly where he was going and giving Sam plenty of opportunity to make a move toward the shore while getting his feet back under him. Even under the water Dean could hear Johnny’s excited yelps.

Dean surfaced only a few yards away from Sam and Johnny. Though Sam was close enough to the shore to be able to stand, it was easier to tote Johnny’s weight if the smaller boy was buoyant so Sam kept his torso in the water. Sam was using his albatross arms to push through the water and Johnny was kicking; it was such an easy target, Dean couldn’t resist.

One giant leap got Dean close enough to get a hand around Johnny’s ankle. He pulled, but Johnny didn’t release Sam resulting in both of them going under. Sam tucked and turned under the water. He got his foot on Dean’s wrist and was able to shove him hard enough to make him release Johnny. Everyone came up for air, but now their positions were reversed; Dean was facing the shore with Sam interposed between him and Johnny. Dean acted quickly and made a feint toward Johnny. Sam pushed the smaller boy toward the shore and “safety”, and then moved to intercept Dean.

It was not difficult to skirt under Sam’s reach, slip behind him and pin his arms. Sam did his best to wriggle free, but Dean had him locked up good and tight. Unfortunately for Dean, he had forgotten it wasn’t the two of them horsing around. He had forgotten about Johnny and although Sam had insured a cleared avenue to the sandy beach, Johnny was not one to stand idly by. With a war cry Johnny jumped into the fray and onto Dean’s back.

Dean wasn’t sure what surprised him more – the unexpected weight of Johnny on his back or the weird battle cry. It must’ve been the war cry because though he could compensate for Johnny clinging like a spider monkey to his back, the cry of “Remember the Alamo!” was so completely out of left field that it made Dean laugh and laugh.

Vaguely Dean could hear Johnny crowing to Sam, “We got him! We got him!” but it hardly registered over the hysterical laughter that Dean just couldn’t control. He lost his footing and went down into the water, and even the threat of drowning didn’t stop the laughter. Instinctively Dean tried to get back on his feet, but it would’ve been difficult without Sam there hauling him up out of the water.

Dean could only gasp, “Remember the Alamo..” before stumbling toward the shore and crashing to his knees in the shallow water, still laughing. Realizing the game was over for the moment, Johnny slid off of Dean’s back and hovered by Sam. Dean could see on Johnny’s face that he didn’t understand Dean’s hysteria and was moments away from going from confused and in on the joke to insulted with hurt feelings.

“Kid…” Dean pulled himself together and stood on shaky legs while he clasped Johnny’s shoulder. “You are a trip.”

Johnny beamed, comfortable once again. “Water’s not so cold anymore, is it?” Dean asked with a wink as if the impromptu game had been his plan all along and not just an excuse to play.

“Hey! No!” Johnny was thrilled with the revelation. With a whoop, Johnny spun and threw himself back into the water. “Let’s try the swing!” Dean chuckled and watched him go; Sam sloshed ashore to peel off his soaking shoes and socks. When Sam was ready, they stood together silently watching Johnny’s efforts to capture the dangling swing and drag it toward the shore.

“Not tall enough to reach the bowls in the cabinet. Can’t manage to reach the rope swing. What kind of a gift is that?” Sam posed looking thoughtfully at Johnny in the water..

“Here guy…,” Dean joined in with a poor imitation of the Gypsy's warbling voice. “Let’s make you short for the weekend…” He shook his head not really invested in figuring out an answer, but determined to make the most of the afternoon. “C’mon, Sammy.” He slapped Sam on the shoulder with a grin and a jolt of enthusiasm that echoed Johnny’s. “Let’s try the swing!”

Dean pulled himself up onto the dock, ran to the end and executed a low dive off the edge. He managed to end up close enough to Johnny for another ankle grab pulling the boy under the water. He was met with a face full of water when Johnny splashed him as he surfaced. Sam quickly joined the fray and once again sided with Johnny; the splash war lasted only a few minutes because there were certainly more important matters at hand – the swing.

Dean called a truce to the splashing and gave Johnny enough of a boost to reach the dangling rope. Together they pulled the swing to the edge of the pond. The embankment was a little steep but that’s what made it an excellent launching point. There was clearly a path swimmers in the past had used to scramble to the top though it was currently overrun with spring growth.

Dean made his way to the top first, keeping an eye out for poison oak or poison ivy, but he didn’t spot anything that might spoil their play. Johnny quickly clambered after Dean impatient with excitement. Dean knew that Johnny was dying to be the first one to use the swing but there was no telling how long the rope had been there or what kind of shape the tree branch was in; if anyone was going to break a neck going first, it was going to be Dean.

Sam understood what Dean was about and worked his way as far under the overhanging tree branch as he could to examine the limb the rope was wound around. Dean tugged experimentally on the rope and Sam gave a thumbs-up. “It looks solid from here, Dean.”

Knowing that the only way to truly test if the swing would hold was to jump, Dean secured a higher grip on the rope and pushed off. Though Johnny was not the first to use the swing, he was nearly as thrilled for Dean when he took off. Dean had a hard time listening to the squeak of the rope and the groaning of the tree limb over Johnny’s animated whooping, but since the rope didn’t snap and the branch didn’t break it was all good.

At the height of the upswing opposite the embankment where Johnny and Sam were watching, Dean released the rope and actually took flight. He relished the feeling of the sun on his back, the rush of the wind beneath his feet and the sight of his family on the shore. All in all, it was turning out to be an awesome day.

Gravity swiftly reasserted itself and Dean plunged into the water. When he resurfaced he could hear Johnny’s exclamation of “Bitchin’” which was apparently as blue as the youthful Winchester got at twelve years old.

A round-robin system of swinging and rope retrieval was quickly established. Dean’s technique was a straight up swing and drop; Sam’s procedure involved speed and height - when he let go of the rope it looked like he could just take off. Johnny’s turns on the swing were weirdly acrobatic, involving lots of contortions, twisting and spins. Everything was going great until Johnny’s final swing landed him hard on the water - a pure belly flop.

A spike of adrenaline pushed Dean off the embankment, and though Sam was already in the water, Dean got to Johnny first. Johnny, unable to reassert control over his lungs after having the breath knocked out of him was starting to flail in panic. The water was too deep for Dean to stand, so he pulled Johnny into a rescue hold in order to pull him toward shallower water.

“You’re alright, kiddo. I’ve got you.” Dean assured Johnny as the approached the edge of the pond. As soon as he was able, Dean planted his feet and stood up, making sure Johnny’s head and neck were clear of the water. Though Dean was still holding Johnny tightly against his chest, Sam was there too with a hand under Johnny’s arm looking concerned. Then Johnny sucked in a lungful of air and began coughing out the pond water he’d inhaled; it might have been the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard.

Together Sam and Dean maneuvered a wobbly Johnny toward the shore where they’d dropped their stuff earlier. Dean tried not to show it, but his legs were shaking nearly as much as Johnny’s. The three of them collapsed onto the towels. Johnny seemed torn between manning up and playing down the pain he must’ve been in and curling into the fetal position on his towel and giving in to his misery.

Sam was the one who turned the tide. “Man…if we’d been scoring that belly flop it would’ve been a perfect ten.”

“Really?” Johnny’s attention drifted from his aching insides to Sam’s pronouncement.

“Absolutely! I’ve never seen anything like it. Arms out…legs out…and flat on your belly. It was perfect! The _perfect_ belly flop!”

“It was perfect,” Dean mumbled as he lay back on the towel and threw his arm across his eyes, “but let’s not do that again.”

Johnny mimicked Dean’s action and lay back on his towel as well. “Yeah, maybe I won’t get so crazy with my swinging.”

Sam changed the subject and asked, “So are you on the swim team or diving team at home, Johnny? I can’t remember if Dad ever…, uh if our dad told us anything about it.”

“Nah, I only swim for fun. But I do play baseball!” Johnny sat up to face Sam and soon the conversation was off and running. Dean stayed on the towel, letting the chatter flow over him. It was pretty amazing what Sam was able to pull out of the Johnny; not that it was really difficult…the kid was a talker. Sam deftly moved the conversation from topic to topic – from sports and hobbies to friends and family history. Johnny didn’t seem to notice that Sam didn’t have the same base of information that Johnny possessed. As Johnny’s “cousin” of course Sam should know the family lore. He’d rattle off stories about some uncle or other assuming that Sam knew who he was talking about. Sam skillfully managed his responses to spur Johnny to share more family stories instead of Sam responding with stories of his own.

Sam didn’t press too hard around the subject of fathers, Johnny’s or theirs, not knowing what might cause Johnny to remember something he shouldn’t. But Sam did manage to get a sketch of the illness that kept Johnny cooped up all winter and itching for release. A nebulous “accident” followed by bronchitis, pneumonia and a long convalescence were an eerie echo of the winter they’d passed with their father.

Dean didn’t jump into the conversation much, content to sit and listen. He knew Sam would be cataloguing all of the stories and information in his giant brain for reference later. Dean wondered how much of this they’d be able to bring up once John was back to his old self; it didn’t matter much though, what they were getting was a treasure trove in itself.

Eventually the heat and the bugs drove them back into the water. A few rounds of Marco Polo and diving off the dock kept them busy. Johnny couldn’t resist going back on the swing, though Dean chose to stay in the water in the lifeguard position just in case anything else happened. One heart attack per day was about all he could handle.

The afternoon faded and the Winchesters made their way back to the cabin for a dinner of hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. A marathon game of Monopoly followed until once again Johnny was dozing on the couch. Dean roused Johnny enough to get him mobile. When they were off the couch, Sam hung back ready to pull the pillows off and make Johnny a bed like they had the night before. Dean waved him off and steered Johnny to the bathroom.

Once Johnny was occupied Dean stepped back into the living room where Sam was still hovering. “We’ve got to get him to sleep in the big bed, Sam. Can’t have Dad waking up on our floor on Monday morning.”

Sam nodded in understanding, but was clearly concerned about a repeat performance of the night before. Johnny stepped out of the bathroom and was heading to Sam and Dean’s room when Dean threw an arm around his shoulder and steered him toward the master bedroom. “C’mon buddy, you need to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

Dean could feel Johnny’s shoulders tense beneath his arm, but the boy didn’t say anything. Maybe he was thinking that after spending the whole day with Sam and Dean he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. But Dean had no intention of leaving him alone; at least not until he was deeply asleep.

So when Johnny climbed into bed, Dean immediately ordered him to, “Shove over,” and crawled right in after him. Dean made a very big deal of taking up far more space than he needed, to the point where Johnny was giggling and nearly falling off of the far side of the bed. Sam wandered into the doorway toothbrush in mouth, shaking his head at the silliness. In the end, Dean settled himself on the edge of the bed closest to the door and Johnny was curled up in the middle.

Dean sat leaning up against the headboard with his arms folded across his middle. Johnny lay curled, facing toward him anticipating…something. Dean looked down at the upturned face so unlike the face he’d known all his life, unmarked by bitterness, loss and weariness. Dean was overcome by a desperation so intense it was painful; a desire to spare the boy from all the trials that were to come. It was impossible, of course, so Dean ignored his discomfort and got back to the situation at hand.

“Okay now…go to sleep.” And because he was such an excellent role model, Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard.

Even without looking at Johnny’s expression, Dean could sense the outrage and knew Johnny was making that face that Sam always made when Dean needled him. Dean fought hard not to let a smile escape.

“Just like that?” Johnny demanded.

“Yep.” Dean answered with his eyes still closed. “Just like that.”

Dean could hear Johnny flop onto his back in exasperation; he could also hear Sam approaching. This time he let the smile escape.

“Don’t listen to him, Johnny,” Sam soothed as he crawled into the bed on the other side. “He can be weirdly unreasonable.”

“What kind of a dip stick thinks anyone can fall asleep just like that?” Johnny rolled to face Sam, once again happy to have an ally.

“I know!” Sam chuckled, “Dean’s such a dip stick!”

This time Dean did open his eyes. Sam met his gaze, far too gleeful about the whole “dip stick” comment, and Dean knew he wouldn’t be hearing the end of that for a good, long while. Dean just rolled his eyes and settled back.

Like at the pond, Sam led Johnny into conversation, this time focusing much more on Johnny than on family. Sam wanted to know Johnny’s favorite everything – from tv show to junk food to book. Sam found out more in a half-hour than John had given up in Dean's lifetime. Listening to all the things he never knew because they were never offered and he never thought of to ask Dean felt an ache of loss in his gut; not so much for himself, but for the man who cut himself off so completely from the life he once knew.

Unable to dwell too long with his uncomfortable thoughts, Dean rose from the bed. He gave Johnny a pat when the boy looked over with heavy-lidded eyes. “Be right back. Just gotta lock up.”

Dean went through the routine of securing the cabin for the night. It was a quick circuit, but by the time he returned, there was silence in the big room. Johnny had rolled onto his stomach but still facing Sam. Sam had a hand on Johnny’s back and his eyes were closed too. There was a peace there between them that had been missing for so long; Dean prayed that it would last longer than the weekend.

Moving carefully not to disturb the bed and the boys, Dean took up his position again leaning back against the headboard. He drifted off thinking about what tomorrow might have in store.

  
[Friday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879003.html) | [Saturday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879105.html) | [Sunday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879515.html) | [Monday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879740.html) |  [Master Post](http://weesta.livejournal.com/878814.html)  



	3. The Gift - Sunday

The Gift - Sunday 

Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was up to, but it felt like something big. They’d had such a fun day on Saturday hanging out and swimming at the pond; maybe someone else would have been compelled to do something bigger or better to top it. That wasn’t the feeling Sam got from Dean. Dean wasn’t trying to make a big production out of whatever it was he had planned, but he _did_ intend to make the most out of the time they had left to spend with Johnny.

The activities of the day were deceptively commonplace – the three of them began the morning with a jog, and then breakfast; Sam and Johnny spent some time on target practice while Dean cleaned the weapons; then while Sam studied for finals, Dean and Johnny worked on the car. They were all things Sam and Dean would have done that weekend anyway, but doing those same tasks with Johnny tagging along made them different; special; memorable.

Sam was studying in the kitchen; it was around four o’clock when Johnny and Dean came in to wash up and Dean made his announcement. “So what do you guys think?” he asked over his shoulder as he scrubbed the grease out of the creases in his knuckles, “There’s a carnival the next town over…”

“A CARNIVAL?! That would be _boss_!” Johnny’s continuous use of ancient slang was an endless source of amusement to Sam and Dean. They shared a look over his head as he continued to whoop in glee.

Sam closed his calculus book with a grin and leaned back in his chair stretching his arms far over his head to pop out his shoulders as he did. “Carnival sounds good to me.”

“Yes!” Johnny punctuated his response with a fist in the air.

Dean couldn’t hide the excitement on his face. “We’re rolling out in half an hour. Get yourselves ready.” Sam and Johnny scrambled to obey.

~~~

The Winchesters faced the midway, ready for their first scouting foray. Dean had outlined the game plan in the car on the way to the carnival. First up, a quick tour of the rides and games just to see what was available and what was worth waiting on line for. Then on their second pass, they’d narrow down their ride choices and also scope out food options. Johnny managed to contain his excitement, at least externally; Sam got the feeling he didn’t want to look like a complete dork while hanging out with his “cool” cousins.

Sam could not get over Johnny’s glee about everything. It was like every pathway in his adult brain that ordinarily prevented a show of emotion had been destroyed by the spell that returned his youth. All of his feelings shone clearly on his face and he made absolutely no effort to disguise them. It was fascinating.

Johnny bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet between them waiting for Dean to pick a direction to go. The sounds of the fair competed with one another for their attention - the tinny music of the rides; the yelling of the barkers; the under-rumbling of the crowd. Dean moved off through the throng instinctively walking slightly in front of Johnny when they couldn’t move three abreast; Sam automatically took the rear. Johnny was between them wherever they went.

The carnival was a fair size with plenty of rides; the Winchesters routinely avoided any ride where the three of them couldn’t be seated together. However, sitting together was occasionally an issue because having both Sam and Dean trying to jam their long legs into a cart while attempting to leave Johnny some room to breathe was problematic. Sam knew they looked ridiculous, but they ended up laughing their heads off, so it was worth the effort.

The Winchesters caused quite a scene that night although they barely noticed the attention of anyone outside their bubble. Their dedication to eking out as much fun as possible pushed their behavior to just shy of breaking enough rules to be thrown off whatever ride they were on, but their genuinely joyful attitudes and lack of rudeness kept them from being expelled.

The swings were their first stop. Sam didn’t know how Dean managed it, it was some weird _Rainman_ counting thing or something, but whatever line Dean picked for them to wait on always ended up with the three of them being first when it was time to load the ride. This gave them plenty of time to plan their strategy while waiting for the last group of riders to take their turns and exit the ride. Dean also had this weird compulsion to race around to the back of the ride, as far from the entrance as possible, before getting on the ride; Sam and Johnny just followed in his wake.

The swings were organized in sets of three – each row had three free standing swings radiating out from the center column. Dean grabbed a center swing; Johnny sat next to him on the outside arm and Sam sat behind Johnny. While other passengers were loading, the Winchesters amused themselves by twisting their swings up and spinning, or crashing into one another. Before the ride even began, Johnny laughed himself into breathlessness. The carnie in charge of making sure the passengers were belted gave Dean a bored yet disapproving look, kind of like “I don’t want to deal with you, boy. Don’t make trouble for me.” Dean responded with a genuine smile which seemed to disarm the man.

A slight lift and a thump from overhead indicated that the ride was about to begin. “Now, Sammy!” Dean yelled out.

Sam walked himself forward in his swing. Dean scooted sideways. Johnny reached out to Dean with his left hand and twisted slightly in his seat to reach backward for Sam with his right. Sam took both Johnny and Dean’s right hands so they were all seated in one clump. Sam could only shake his head at Dean and Johnny grinning like fools at each other. He was pretty sure he had a similar expression on his face. The swings lifted again and slowly started pulling forward. Both Dean and Sam’s long legs allowed them to walk forward while the ride started moving, allowing them to easily keep holding Johnny. The carnie frowned disapprovingly again as they swung by, but didn’t yell for them to let go.

The swings picked up speed and all three Winchesters were lifted off the ground. “Are you ready, Johnny?” Dean yelled over the rushing wind and blaring music.

“Ready!” Johnny’s arms tensed bringing Sam and Dean in closer.

Dean looked up to gauge the timing of the ride. The canopy of the swings had begun to tilt up and down as well as spinning horizontally. When the roof of their section was nearly at the apex of the top tilt, Dean yelled, “Now!” and released Sam and Johnny with a mighty shove. Both Johnny and Sam swung out much further over the crowd than the other more sedate riders. Dean whooped right along with the younger boys though he didn’t have the same freedom sitting in a center seat. Johnny had thrown his arms wide and head back to extend the feeling of flight.

Sam mimicked Johnny’s posture, closing his eyes and laughing at the rare sensation of weightlessness. And for one moment, suspended above the noisy crowd, Sam let go of the last year’s worth of hostility and growing resentment and enjoyed being a Winchester.

“Sammy!” Sam’s head snapped up at Dean’s call. Dean was twisted around in his swing reaching out to Sam with his right hand. Johnny had already pulled in close to Dean and was clinging to the arm of Dean’s chair waiting for Sam to reconnect with them. Now that the ride was in motion, Sam’s momentum kept him toward the outside and made it difficult for him to get a hold of Dean who was in the middle; but the attempt was half of the fun. Johnny nearly dislocated his shoulder catching the hem of Sam’s jeans and trying to pull him closer that way. Between the two of them, Johnny and Dean managed to reel Sam in for one more big push before the ride was finished. Satisfied with their success, the Winchesters set out in search of another ride.

The roller coasters were out of the question; they were kiddie-sized and very tame. But the Spider, the Tea Cups and the Buccaneer were all in play. Sam let Dean with his weird line-fu take the lead. This got them prime seats at the top of the Buccaneer. Again, the carnie in charge of the ride who was only able to process “group of rowdy boys” as he checked their belts, gave them a look that was supposed to quell their behavior. But Sam watched his face as he took a moment to _look_ at their family; for just a moment the ticket taker saw beyond what he expected, and his attitude changed. The carnie went back to his post, less surly and more indulgent. The vibe the Winchesters were giving off wasn’t one of a disruptive group of boys looking to make trouble, they were sincerely having a fantastic time, and it was starting to rub off on people. Sam wondered if the Gypsy had any idea her spell would extend so far.

The Buccaneer was a glorified half-moon ride dressed up as a pirate ship. Because the bench seats were graduated, the Winchesters were able to watch everyone else as they were seated and buckled in. Sam was not surprised when Dean, looking across the ride to a pair of boys in the top seat opposite them, managed to challenge the older boy’s manhood and dare them both to ride hands-free all without saying a word. Dean shot a glance at Sam over Johnny’s head to make sure he was on board. The older teenager sitting across the way, who wasn’t much younger than Dean, indicated that Johnny was to be included as well. Sam watched Dean’s jaw clench; it was clear to Sam that Dean was insulted that the boy thought Johnny couldn’t handle it. Age wasn’t an issue, he was a Winchester.

“Johnny.” Dean leaned over to talk to the younger boy squished between him and Sam. Dean nodded his head slightly toward their opponents. “That dude over there thinks you can’t handle the ride with no hands.”

Johnny was just as insulted as Dean had been. “What? I’m not a baby! We’ll see if he can keep up that lip flappin’ when the ride is over.” Sam had to bite his lip to prevent him from bursting out laughing; Johnny shot a glance over at the other boys and muttered under his breath. “Candyass.”

Unable to help himself, Sam started to snicker. Luckily, the attendant picked that moment to release the break, and as the ride started to roll Sam got himself under control. Almost before the ride started to move the littlest riders in the center seats started squealing. Dean, Sam and Johnny rode with their hands out in front of them, hovering above the safety bar as the ride picked up speed. Sam noticed, with more than a little satisfaction, that the younger rider in the seat across from them hadn’t released the bar yet. That was one point in their favor.

Sam grinned as he felt the rollers beneath the half-moon grab the surface of the carriage and pull them down. When the gears reversed, Sam prepared himself for the ride to the top. The rhythm picked up quickly and in just two more swings the Winchesters were riding with their hands high, yelling with whoops of glee every time the ride reached the top of its swing. The boys on the other side had their arms raised as well, but Sam thought the younger one was looking a little green and ready to crack. When the seats across from them were on their highest swing, the smaller rider caved in and clutched safety bar.

The Winchesters would’ve won the contest hands down, but Dean hadn’t counted on the speed or height of the ride and he couldn’t stop his natural instincts. Johnny was so excited that the younger boy on the other side of the ride had cracked that he was bouncing on the bench and wasn’t fully seated when their side began the upswing. When their bench hit that spot where the momentum makes it feel like you’re going to fly out of your chair, Dean was the one who cracked.

He did the soccer-mom arm thing.

For a split second, Sam almost gave into the temptation to laugh hysterically and never let Dean live down the fact that he felt compelled to prevent Johnny from falling off the Buccaneer even though it would never happen in a million years. Instead, Sam did the soccer-mom arm thing too. Before the ride had begun to fall from the crest, both Sam and Dean had their arms locked in an “X” in front of Johnny. For his part, Johnny looped his arms through both of theirs and they finished the ride seated that way.  
When the ride was over and everyone disembarked, Sam was anticipating that the older boy from the opposite side would give Dean a hard time. But as both sets of boys converged at the gate to the ramp, Dean made the first move and spoke directly to the younger boy. “You alright, dude? You looked a little green up there.” His tone wasn’t mocking or teasing, simply concerned. That seemed to win the older boy over.

“He’s okay. We’re just gonna walk around for a little while.” Dean nodded in approval when the older boy slung his arm around the younger one’s shoulders as they headed off toward another ride.

Dean swung around to face Sam, clapped his hands sharply, and then rubbed them together. “Whadda you guys say? Ready to eat?”

“Right on! Let’s pig out!” was Johnny’s enthusiastic reply.

Sam was right on their heels when Johnny and Dean took off for the food concessions.  
He was slightly anxious about money – so far Dean had paid for the tickets, but food was expensive and it was no mystery that Winchesters could eat. Sam was pretty sure that Dean was using his own spending money; the small stash of cash on hand in the house for emergencies was not to be touched. How would they explain to John once he was back to normal that they’d used that money to take him to the fair? No, it was better to take the hit on their own meager savings than to risk that.

Sam patted his pocket to reassure himself that his wallet was in place. He had a little savings of his own and he didn’t intend to let Dean pay for everything. As Sam brought his attention back to Dean and Johnny, he could see that Dean had a plan – he should’ve figured. Stepping up to the counter, Dean asked for one of every food on the menu, three orders of fries and three large sodas. Before Dean could take his own wallet out, Sam did the math in his head and took out his own wallet. When he threw enough money down to cover half of the price he caught Dean’s eye. Dean didn’t say anything, he just nodded in silent approval.

Johnny waited impatiently between them for the food to arrive. Sam had to laugh when Dean loaded Johnny down with everything except the drinks to carry. It would not have been so amusing if Johnny had spilled all of the food, but he made it to the weathered picnic tables with no problem. Johnny dropped onto the corner of the bench, while Dean parked himself on Johnny’s left. Sam sat across from them.

Dean had purchased a little bit of everything that was shared between the three of them. Sam managed to claim most of the hamburger and cheeseburger leaving Johnny and Dean to consume the hot dog, corn dog and the rest of the more unusual fried food items. Watching them sitting and eating side by side was a revelation for Sam. Dean was always one to enjoy food, and Johnny, with his lack of inhibitions, was throwing himself into the meal with equal gusto. They were so much the same although never in Sam’s life could he recall seeing his father eat with such enthusiasm. Dean picked it up from somewhere even though he’d probably never witnessed it either. Sam chalked it up to nature over nurture and went back to eating his French fries.

After eating such a heavy meal, a walk around the midway was in order. Barkers cried out challenging fair-goers to try “games of skill” and to “test their luck”. After one circuit of the midway, Dean walked them slightly off the beaten path. “Whadda ya think, Sammy?”

This wasn’t the first carnival they’d gone too; occasionally Dad would take them specifically for drills like this. It occurred to Sam that in this same situation if it was Dad, and not Dean, asking the question he’d be oppositional and raising hell about even being there and not studying for finals. Sam deliberately let that go, and focused on being there with Dean and Johnny.

Sam replied while looking back toward the midway. “The balloon dart game definitely has weighted darts – not too hard to compensate for.” Johnny looked a little startled and stared back at the brightly colored booth as though looking for something he missed. “The ring toss and the quarter toss have raised and slightly slanted platforms. We could work that out, but the prizes aren’t worth wasting our time on.”

Johnny turned to the older boys, incredulous. “Do you mean they’re cheating?” he asked in a shocked whisper.

Dean grasped his shoulder and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Yep. But we’re gonna beat them at their own game.” He paused. “Do you know why?”

“Why?” answered Johnny.

Dean stood up and included Sam in his answer. “Because we’re Winchesters.” Johnny’s grin was brighter than all the lights on the midway.

Sam shifted his stance slightly and nudged Dean indicating a direction. Sam aimed his gaze at a booth set apart from the main midway. Johnny quickly realigned himself so he could see what they were looking at too. Sam nodded his chin in the direction of the booth as he spoke, “That booth looks like it’s an outside vendor, not your typical carnival shooting booth. The rifles are in better condition, and the prizes are a helluva lot better. I haven’t seen anyone walk away a winner.”

Dean nodded confidently, “That’s gonna change.”

They started out slow near the easier games. Dean would break down the logistics of each booth for Johnny before they approached, explaining what the cheat was and how to get around it. If the barker for the game was showing the crowd a good time and making it fun for the players, they would just play to play; however, if the barker was mean-spirited and making fun of people in the crowd, that’s when the Winchesters played to win. And, if a barker was particularly obnoxious, that’s when Dean would really take his time explaining to Johnny, loudly, the cheat of the game, until a crowd gathered and many more people knew how to play to win. He would even hang around and help complete strangers with their skills until they won and more people than not walked away with a prize.

All of their meandering and playing eventually brought them to the shooting booth that Sam had identified earlier. The barker was no fool; he watched their progress and saw them coming, but didn’t draw attention to it. He seemed more curious than confrontational; it was probably rare that he had players with the skills to actually beat his game, and he was interested in the challenge.

“Evenin’ gentlemen.” he greeted them.

The booth behind the barker was brightly lit. Row after row of moving targets made their way back and forth on mechanized belts. The lowest row of targets was made of stationary ducks bobbing along behind a blue wave of painted water. In the middle row, the ducks were farther apart, smaller in size and moving faster. These ducks were also occasionally obscured by stationary lily pads. In the highest part of the booth were “flying” ducks; they were fast moving, occasionally changed direction and were sporadically obscured by moving clouds.

“Evenin’” Dean replied in response as he sized up the booth at close range.

Sam thought the barker’s strategy was a good one – he didn’t invite them to play; he didn’t cajole or harass them. By keeping his mouth shut he put Dean in the position of asking to play.

“What’s the price?” Dean asked as he casually examined a rifle that was laid out on the counter even though the sign listed the cost clear as day.

The barker didn’t rise to the bait. “Three dollars for three shots - shoot a duck on all three levels and walk away with the prize of your choice.”

Dean nodded, dug three dollar bills out of his jeans pocket and picked up a rifle. He immediately turned and passed the gun on to Johnny who was startled by the move. Sam wasn’t surprised; by letting Johnny shoot first, Dean could see how the gun fired and had more time to observe the movement of the targets. The barker had a rueful smirk on his face; he wasn’t expecting Dean to pass the gun to Johnny either, but as soon as Dean did it, he understood why.

Johnny kept trying to give the rifle back to Dean, even as Dean moved him into a central position behind the counter. “Dean, man…this is your turn. You should be the one to go.”

“Don’t worry about it, Johnny,” Dean reassured him, “just have fun with it. Remember what Sammy showed you yesterday.”

Johnny turned with wide eyes toward Sam. What he couldn’t say to Dean, he could say to Sam. “I can’t do it, Sam.”

Sam was struck again by the similarity between Johnny and Dean. It wasn’t the physical resemblance, but the profound need to succeed and the fear of letting anyone down marked them as clearly as Sam’s inherited dimples. Sam never thought he’d be in a position to reassure his father; when did John Winchester ever need to be told he could succeed at anything? But this wasn’t John Winchester staring at Sam with wide eyes, it was Johnny, and he was desperately afraid of disappointing his family.

“Just relax, Johnny.” Sam smiled encouragingly. “Just like shooting cans off the fence. You got pretty good at that yesterday.”

John nodded, more to himself than in agreement with anything Sam was saying. “You really think I can do it, Sam?”

Sam put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and leaned over a little so he could look him in the eye. “I really think you can.” And that was it; just a word from Sam was all it took. It was hard for Sam to pinpoint if that was what filled him with pride, or the expert way Johnny took up the rifle.

“Well now, boys,” the barker held up a hand to stop Johnny’s approach to the counter, “whadda’ya say we make this a little more interesting.” Johnny halted in mid-step and looked completely freaked out, worried about whatever other level of pressure the game owner was about to lay on him. Sam stepped up behind Johnny and put a hand on his neck. Dean face was a study in anger; he was ready to explode at the barker for taking the momentum away from Johnny after Sam’s pep talk.

“Now, now…” the man held his hands up in a calming gesture. “I ain’t tryin’ to throw anybody off his game. But you see here, I can tell just by lookin’ at you boys that you’ve got some skills. Just look at how the youngun’ here holds that rifle. I bet your daddy taught y’all that.” The man made a broad wink at Sam, and Sam had to laugh; in a way, John, through Sam, _had_ been the one to teach Johnny about how to shoot.

“I’m pretty darn sure that you boys could set up shop and wipe me outta every last prize I’ve got here, so this is what I propose instead. You play one time, the three of ya, together. If between the three of ya can hit one target on each level, then you each get a pick of the prizes. But if one of y’all miss, you all walk away empty-handed...but we’ll still be friendly about it.”

Sam was impressed with the barker’s wily plan. Even as they were talking a small crowd had gathered; there were far more people standing around the booth than Sam had seen there all night. The man spoke truly; this _was_ a game of skill, and because of that he had fewer players than the flashier games, and even less repeat players. He also didn’t berate passersby into playing by goading or teasing, again drawing less of a crowd.

However, with the challenge he’d thrown out to them, the barker had already generated a great deal of interest. Win or lose, the Winchesters were good for business. If they lost, there were probably those in the crowd who’d try their hand simply because they were standing there. If they won, people seeing the three of them walking around with the best prizes on the midway would think they had a chance to win too and give the game a try. For the barker it was a win-win situation.

Sam didn’t even need to see the silent look from Dean to know that they were going to accept the challenge. When Dean stepped forward to pick a rifle of his own, a small cheer went up from the crowd. Sam was pretty sure he was the only one to catch the brief, pleased smile on Dean’s face.

While making a show of inspecting their rifles, Dean and Sam crowded close to Johnny. Dean addressed the youngest Winchester as he outlined the plan in a low voice. “Johnny, you go for a low target. Sammy you take the middle, and I’ll take the top. Johnny, you’re gonna go first. Just take your time sighting your target. The ducks you’re going for are much closer than the cans on the fence, easy as pie.”

Johnny nodded listening to Dean. Sam noticed Johnny had his eye on the targets the whole time Dean was talking. He seemed much calmer and more centered knowing this was a challenge they were going to face together. “I’m not used to the moving targets, but I’m sure I can compensate because they’re so much closer.” Sam was pleased that Johnny’s confidence had returned.

“That’s my boy!” Dean replied as he mussed Johnny’s hair.

Sam and Dean moved to stand on either side of Johnny – Sam to his right and Dean on his left. Dean shot Sam a glance over Johnny’s head; Sam nodded in recognition of the unspoken plan. A larger crowd had gathered and Dean wanted to put on a little bit of a show.

Johnny had taken Dean’s advice to heart and was implementing the tips Sam had passed on the day before. Sam was pleased to note his stance was good and his grip on the rifle was relaxed. Then Johnny tensed slightly and Sam could see the barrel of rifle start to track one particular target. Dean had noticed it too. Johnny squeezed the trigger, and before the barker could even take a breath to announce his success, Sam and Dean took their shots in such close succession the reports of the rifles sounded simultaneous.

For a fraction of a second, all action outside of the booth was suspended and the only movement was the swirling of the smoke from the guns, and the lopsided dancing of the three ducks that were semi-suspended after being knocked down. A much louder cheer went up from the crowd and excited reports sped from one person to the next.

“Did you see that?” “They all shot at the same time!” “I never thought the little guy would make that shot. That was amazing!”

Then the crowd surged forward. Sam was a little startled by the enthusiastic back-slapping and high-fiving. Everyone seemed a little high on the Winchester’s success. Dean threw an arm around Johnny’s shoulders both in celebration and to be a buffer against the crowd. Suddenly the barker had a slew of eager customers, but he didn’t forget the bargain he’d made.

“Hold on now, folks!” he called above the crowd. “I gotta take care of some business with these boys.” The barker swept his arm backward in a grand gesture. “Pick of the litter, boys. One for each of you! What’ll you have?”

It amused Sam to no end that Dean picked the largest pair of fuzzy dice he’d ever seen. The white and black-spotted cubes made for an interesting accessory as Dean draped them around his neck. They were so huge they’d never be able to dangle on the Impala’s rearview mirror; hell, they might not even be able to fit in the front seat. Johnny picked a bear (not a teddy bear, he insisted) dressed in military fatigues. The bear was more than half of Johnny’s size but he hefted it with obvious pride.

When he made his choice, Sam knew he was going to hear it from Johnny, and he wasn’t disappointed. “A unicorn?” Johnny shot a stunned look at Dean even as he was overcome with giggles. “Jeeze Louise Sam!…A _unicorn_ with a rainbow tail and pink ribbons?” Johnny’s voice had dropped to a horrified whisper. “That’s a _girl_ prize!”

Sam ignored Johnny as he hoisted the unicorn, tucked it under his left arm and started walking. Dean got Johnny moving, but the youngest Winchester was torn between the nearly incapacitating impulse to mock Sam and the desire to emulate Dean’s unfathomable decision to stay silent. This resulted in a strange mix of muttering, sputtering and whispering to Dean about Sam’s choice of prize. Dean just chuckled and slung his arm around Johnny’s shoulder.

While they were walking, taking a meandering path back toward the main entrance, Sam kept his eyes peeled for a suitable target. You never knew when you were going to find the object of your desire, but tonight Sam hoped it would be sooner rather than later; Johnny would only be able to maintain radio silence for so long. Luck was on Sam’s side, and he spotted a likely candidate almost immediately.

It was a tradition of sorts that had started when they were fairly young. John Winchester could occasionally be indulgent as far as taking the boys for a trip to a carnival, but gathering a collection of cheaply made, dust catching toys that would take up space better used for essentials was too far for him to go. Most prizes the boys won would have to be left behind, either at the carnival, or later at the motel. John found it easier to insist that the toys be left at the fair ground; it made it less likely that the boys would become attached.

Sam couldn’t remember who started the game – it was probably Dean. Instead of just leaving the toys on an empty bench or by the side of a booth where just anyone could pick them up, they started to look for children to give the prizes to. There was a unwritten list of criteria – the toy had to be passed on to an only child or a family of two if Sam and Dean were giving their prizes away simultaneously so they wouldn’t cause a fight; the child in question couldn’t be behaving like a brat demanding one more ride or one more snack.

The little girl who had caught Sam’s eye was maybe six or seven. She was clinging to her mother’s hand as they walked down the game midway toward the carnival exit. Her blonde pony tail bobbed up and down as she moved alongside her mother; it was tied neatly with a pink bow. Everything she wore was just a little too big; big enough for her to “grow into”, but clearly not brand-new store bought clothes. There were no food stains on her shirt or shorts to indicate that she’d had anything to eat at the carnival – either she was an exceptionally neat eater or her mom gave her a choice of rides or food. As the pair walked along past the eye-catching games there was a look of longing on the little girl’s face, but there was resignation too; she never begged for or demanded a chance to play.

Sam knew Dean would hang back a little as he approached the family. He picked up his pace a little bit so he could intercept them before they got too far ahead of him. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

The woman paused, not quite sure who was trying to get her attention. Sam walked closer and the little girl looked adoringly at the gigantic unicorn under Sam’s arm. Then she stepped closer to her mother to bury her face in the woman’s hip.

Sam addressed the mother in one breathless sentence. “I know this might sound a little crazy, but I’m supposed to meet my brother in like two minutes for a ride home and he made a big deal about being on time and there’s no way I can get all the way to the exit and across the parking lot carrying this gigantic unicorn and I saw you and your little girl and I was wondering if maybe you’d take it so I can make a run for it?” Sam held out the unicorn imploringly.

It didn’t really matter if the mother believed Sam’s story or not. Sam shifted on the balls of his feet waiting for the woman to respond.

“What do you think, Maddie?” asked the woman as she brushed the hair off of her daughter’s upturned face. “Can we give this unicorn a good home?” Sam grinned because he knew the deal was done once the lady got her little girl involved.

Sam dropped the pretense of his “waiting brother” long enough to kneel down and offer the unicorn to Maddie. She didn’t even take the doll from Sam; she just threw herself at the unicorn and held it and Sam in a big hug. The smile on her face as she buried her face in the unicorn’s neck made Sam grin in return.

“What do you say, Maddie?” prompted her mother.

Shy once again, Maddie lifted her face from the unicorn’s neck and whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Sam smoothed her hair the way her mother had.

“Thank you.” Maddie’s mother repeated, and Sam was glad to have to run away so he didn’t have to look at the expression in her grateful eyes. Sam made a masterful dash through the crowd making it look like he was breaking his neck to get to the parking lot long enough to get out of the woman’s line of sight. Then he ducked behind some food stands and circled back toward the midway to find Dean and Johnny.

Dean and Johnny were standing not far from where Sam had left them. Johnny had an expression of understanding on his face, and Sam could overhear Dean explaining that the first person to pick a prize got his choice, so the second had to pick a “girl” prize to give away since it was unfair to only pass on their winnings to boys.

Johnny saw Sam first. “That was real cool what you did, Sammy. You didn’t see that little girl’s face when you beat feet out of there…” Johnny put his free arm around Sam’s waist and gave a squeeze. “You really made her happy.”

Sam responded automatically to Johnny’s one-armed hug and hugged his shoulders in return. “Yeah, it’s a pretty good way to end the night.”

The Winchesters continued to wind their way through the crowds toward the exit. They were in no hurry, content to enjoy their night. Dean paused as they passed the Buccaneer ride. Sam followed his gaze as he watched the ride. There in the top bench was the pair of boys who had been on the ride with them earlier. But this time, both of the brothers were riding with their hands high, and the younger brother seemed particularly excited with his feat.

Dean waited as the ride wound down and the passengers disembarked. He approached the other boys as they stumbled off the ride; the older brother pounding the younger on the back celebrating his success. “Hey man! I saw you on the ride up there.”

“Hands free!” the older brother crowed. “I _knew_ you could do it!”

Sam thought the younger brother looked kind of embarrassed, but it was clear he was also basking in the praise. Dean unwound the gigantic dice from around his neck. “I think you should be rewarded for your success.”

The younger boy’s eyes went wide as Dean, somewhat ceremoniously, draped the dice around his shoulders. “No way, man. Really?”

“Enjoy.” Dean slapped the boy on his shoulder and walked away. Sam could hear the other boys discussing the dice excitedly as the Winchesters walked away.

“You guys should help me pick out who to give my bear to.” Johnny suggested as they moved forward.

Sam shot a glance at Dean over Johnny’s head; Johnny was too engaged in scanning the crowd to notice. On the one hand, the part of Sam that had come to love this younger, innocent John wanted him to keep his prize because he’d earned it. On the other hand, when they had their father back tomorrow, what were they going to do with a gigantic bear?

“Nah, man,” Dean began, “You don’t have to give your bear away ‘cause Sam and I gave away our prizes.”

“No, I know.” Johnny replied, and he sounded sincere. “But it is kinda really huge and I don’t have anyplace to put it.” Sam wondered if there was some part of John that was asserting itself on Johnny’s awareness in preparation for a return to “normal” the next day. It made Sam kind of sad.

The Winchesters continued moving toward the exit. A boy sitting by the entrance for the swings got Johnny’s attention and he altered his path to walk over and strike up a conversation.

“Hey, man,” Johnny began, “You can’t go on this ride?”

“Nah,” the boy replied tapping his leg immobilized in an extensive cast. “I can’t do any of the rides, even the tame ones.”

“That’s so lame!” Johnny commiserated.

“I know. My mom keeps telling me I should just be happy to be out of the house.” The boy shrugged. “But it kinda sucks just watching my brothers go on everything while I just sit here and hold the jackets.” The boy hitched his thumb over his shoulder indicating the jackets that were slung on the handles of the wheelchair he was seated in.

Sam saw Johnny get a glint in his eye. It seemed that whatever he had planned involved a little more than simply passing the bear on to a new owner. He trotted over to where Sam was standing with Dean. He shoved the bear toward Dean. “Here Dean, take this and go back toward the midway. Quick, while no one’s looking.”

Sam probably shouldn’t have been surprised as how quickly and automatically Dean followed a direct order from Johnny. In a moment Sam was standing alone as Dean took off in one direction and Johnny jogged back over to the boy.

“Hey, man…what’s your name? I’m Johnny.” Johnny held out his hand for the other boy to shake.

“I’m Mike.” The boy grinned as he shook Johnny’s hand. Sam couldn’t hear what Johnny said as he leaned closer to Mike. Mike’s grin got even wider and he nodded his head. As Johnny straightened up, Mike called out, “Mom! MOM!”

A dark haired woman standing by the railing for the swing ride turned around. “I’m gonna go to that game booth over there.” Mike pointed to a booth behind Sam. The woman looked concerned and started to move toward the boys. “It’s okay…” Mike tried to forestall her. “My friend Johnny and his big brother are going to push me over. I’ll be _right_ there.” Mike emphasized his statement with some vigorous hand gestures.

Sam walked over to the wheelchair and waved. The swing ride was just reloading and a much younger voice started clamoring for the woman’s attention. She looked torn and then waved to Mike. “You just be careful of that leg and stay _right_ there where I can see you.”

“Okay Mom.” Mike was already busy releasing the brakes and trying to back up, but he didn’t have enough leverage and the terrain was not smooth. Sam intervened.

“Hang on. Lemme just…” Sam rocked the chair forward and then pulled it back over a slight rise of grass. Once the wheelchair was moving, it was much easier to maneuver. Johnny and Mike were eager to put Johnny’s plan in motion. Johnny led the way to the booth where Mike was supposed to go, and then he veered around it. Sam followed around the booth, hoping Mike’s mom didn’t notice their disappearance right away. Johnny continued walking until the view of the swings was completely obscured by the back of the booth.

“I’m gonna find Dean, be right back!” Johnny called over his shoulder as he began weaving through the crowd looking for the temporarily oldest Winchester. Luckily Dean hadn’t gone all the way back to the midway; he figured something was afoot and that the boy in the wheelchair couldn’t go too far. Johnny soon came back with Dean and the bear in tow.

In the short time it took for Johnny to return with Dean, Sam had been keeping an eye out on the swing ride. Mike’s mom did look around for them once, but she looked more angry than nervous that she didn’t immediately spot her wayward son and his friends. Johnny took the bear from Dean and dumped it in Mike’s lap. It was a good thing Mike had someone else to steer his wheelchair; his field of view was completely covered by the gigantic bear.

“Here’s the plan.” Johnny explained excitedly as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “We’re gonna wait ‘til the ride starts to unload, and when Mike’s brothers get off the swings we’ll push him up and show they what a boss prize he won when they went on the rides without him!”

Dean nodded in approval. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Sam was still at the helm of the wheelchair, and got Mike and his new companion rolling. Johnny led the way around the carnival booth and headed toward the swings. By that time, Mike’s mom was on high alert looking for him; she’d already corralled his siblings- two older and one younger brother - and looked like she was loaded for bear.

“Hey Mom!” yelled Mike, ready to put the plan into action, “Look what I won!”

“Oh, you should’ve seen it!” Johnny practically danced up to the waiting family. “It was awesome!”

Mike’s mom seemed torn between relief and surprise. Sam spoke up, “It was my fault. I wanted to go a little further than the booth that was right there.”

Dean jumped in simultaneously, “It was the best shooting I’ve seen all night, especially considering he had to compensate for the angle because he was sitting down.”

Johnny had continued talking all throughout, enthusiastically waving his arms and reenacting Mike’s amazing display of shooting. “He shot ducks on ALL THREE levels. First the easy one, then the middle one, and then the _flying duck behind the cloud_! It was so gnarly! And you know…there’s NO ONE else walking around with a prize like his. You guys totally missed out!”

Mike’s older brothers were sufficiently jealous. The youngest brother was suitably awed. “Mikey…that’s the biggest bear I’ve ever seen.” he said as he reached out to pet the bear in Mike’s lap.

“Yeah, squirt! It’s almost as big as you!”

Johnny punched Mike on the shoulder. “Hey, man, enjoy it!” They shared a grin and the Winchesters made their exit leaving behind the excited chattering of the family gathered around the wheelchair.

“That was a _gas_!” Johnny crowed.

“Yeah, a real gas.” Dean agreed, as he chuckled and shook his head.

With all of the prizes handed off to deserving new owners, Dean set their path toward the parking lot. Sam looked around as they were leaving; he wanted to remember everything. A small, gaudy tent off to the side of the main entrance caught Sam’s eye. In front there was a glittery sign declaring “FORTUNES TOLD”. As they passed, the curtain covering the entrance to the tent was pushed aside and a woman stepped out. Though he had never seen the Gypsy who had imparted this “gift” on their family, Sam knew that she was the one.

There was no time for Sam to stop; Dean and Johnny were walking ahead, blithely unaware of the gaze of the woman upon them. Sam wanted to keep up, so he kept moving, but he raised his hand in a silent salute. It was a hello, an acknowledgement, a thank-you. She smiled and nodded in return, satisfied with a job well done.

Sam caught up to the others just as Dean said, “I think we’ve got time for one more ride.”

Johnny looked around, confused. They’d reached the edge of the parking lot, and Dean hadn’t slowed his pace. “All the rides are back in the carnival, Dean.”

Dean just grinned as he took Johnny’s left wrist in his left hand and grabbed Johnny’s left armpit with his right. “This one’s kind of homemade.”

Sam mimicked Dean’s grip on Johnny’s right side. Johnny tensed as Dean counted down, “One…two…THREE!”

Together Sam and Dean swung Johnny skyward between them. Johnny was somewhat unprepared so his legs went flailing way over his head, and on the way down he didn’t get his legs under himself in time so he landed on his butt. He was laughing so hard Sam had a hard time making out what he was trying to say between gasping for air.

“That was so boss…it felt like I was flying…” Johnny climbed unsteadily to his feet. Dean helped him up with a hand under his elbow. “Try it again!” Johnny insisted. “I’m ready this time.”

Dean chuckled, indulgent. “Are you really ready?” Johnny nodded, grinning. “Are you really, really ready?” Dean teased. Sam could feel Johnny practically thrumming with excitement in his grasp. If they didn’t swing him soon chances were good he’d fly away on his own. Sam looked over and shook his head as he laughed at Dean.

“Okay…One…Two…THREE!” Sam and Dean stepped forward simultaneously and used their momentum to swing Johnny even higher than they had the first time. But this time Johnny was ready and at the top of the swing he kicked his legs out and Sam nearly lost his grip.

“Dude, what’re you doing?” Sam yelled, startled and trying to help Johnny to land on his feet.

“Didja see that?!” Johnny seemed completely unconcerned by the fact that Sam had almost dropped him on his head. “I almost did a complete flip!”

“If you want to do a flip, you’ve got to tuck your legs in at the top, not kick them out.” Dean advised. Sam could not believe that Dean was actually giving Johnny tips on how to break his neck. Dean continued, “This is the last swing, so if you’re gonna flip you need to go for it.”

“Right on!” Johnny held out his wrists for Sam and Dean, then backed up slightly to get a running start in order to add his momentum to theirs. Dean counted off one last time, “One…Two…THREE!”

On “THREE” Sam and Dean stepped forward, and Johnny assisted by running and jumping into the air. His unnaturally small body arced into the air. Then he pulled his legs in to carry his weight over the top of the swing. Between the two of them, Sam and Dean brought Johnny down for a ten-point landing.

“That was ROCKIN’!” Johnny pulled himself out of their grips and threw his hands up for some enthusiastic high-fives. “Thanks guys!”

Sam affectionately ruffled Johnny’s hair as they started walking again. “For a minute there I thought you were going to take off.”

Johnny responded in his disconcertingly literal way. “Oh, no way, Sam! I knew you guys had me the whole time.”

“Yeah, little man…”Dean ran his hand down Johnny’s head and rested it on the back of his neck. “We had ya the whole time.”

“This has been the _best_ weekend ever! I can’t thank you guys enough!”

Dean looked over at Sam. “It sure turned out better than we expected.”

Sam met and held Dean’s gaze. “It really did.”

  
[Friday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879003.html) | [Saturday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879105.html) | [Sunday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879515.html) | [Monday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879740.html) | [Master Post](http://weesta.livejournal.com/878814.html)  



	4. The Gift - Monday

The Gift - Monday    


John woke up slowly. None of his internal alarms were screaming for him to wake up, so he let his body take its time with it. He was surprised at how refreshed he felt. He hadn’t felt this relaxed and rested since before he got sick; it was probably months, hell…maybe even years since he’d felt this good. On top of all that, John surmised he must have slept like a rock; he couldn’t recall any dreams from the night before.

A soft sigh very close by caught John’s attention; surprisingly, it didn’t alarm him although he was not able to immediately identify the source of the sound. John’s lack of reaction should have bothered him much more than it did, but whatever was out there couldn’t compete with the overwhelming feeling of security that surrounded him.

Unwilling to let go of the relaxed and content feeling, John opened his eyes slowly. He was in his own bed, though he couldn’t recall how he got there. That wasn’t much of a surprise; sometimes after a strenuous hunt he fell into bed on auto-pilot after securing the house for the night. What _was_ a surprise was the fact that the boys were _also_ sleeping in his bed, one on either side – Dean to his right and Sam to his left.

John cast his thoughts back, but could come up with no reason the boys would have crawled into bed with him. He wasn’t sick – even through the past winter when he had been ill, the boys didn’t sleep in the bed with him; they brought the armchair in from the living room and took turns as sentinels against the delirium that plagued John in his fevered sleep. Again, his lack of memory distressed him far less than it should have. In fact, it didn’t bother him at all. Instead, a soft smile graced John’s face in an unfamiliar expression.

John turned his head slightly to the right, keeping his movements minimal to avoid rousing either of his sons. It was no surprise that Dean was on the side of the bed closest to the door. He lay on his belly with his right hand snaked under the pillow. His head was turned to the left and his left arm hung loosely off the side of the bed. Even in his sleep he was prepared to stand between whatever might come through that door and his family. John felt his heart swell in his chest with unspoken pride. He gingerly stretched his left hand across his body until it hovered over Dean’s back. Gently so as not to disturb Dean, John let his fingers rest feather-light between Dean’s shoulders so he could feel the rhythm of his breathing, just like he had when Dean was a baby.

Blinking back unexpected tears, John turned to look at Sam. His younger boy was curled into the shape of a question mark. He lay facing John; the almost ever present crease of frustration between his brows was smoothed in his sleep, and he hardly looked his sixteen years. What was even more unexpected than Sam’s peaceful presence was the hand on John’s chest. Sam didn’t have a hold on him like he needed comfort; the hand on John’s chest was a steadying influence saying “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Not knowing what to do with the tremendous influx of emotions that resulted from waking up in a bed with his boys around him, and unwilling to forsake the remarkable feeling of being utterly safe and secure, John allowed his eyes to slide closed. He brought his right hand across his chest until it lay on top of Sam’s hand. Breathing in deeply, John smelled popcorn and cotton candy while the phantom tune of a merry-go-round lulled him back to sleep.

  
[Friday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879003.html) | [Saturday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879105.html) | [Sunday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879515.html) | [Monday](http://weesta.livejournal.com/879740.html) | [Master Post](http://weesta.livejournal.com/878814.html)  



End file.
